


Evil Has Never

by Windlion



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: But you already knew that, Hux's issues, M/M, Ren's issues have issues, Slow Burn, Snoke is terrible, equal opportunity BAMFery, like reaaaaaaaaaaaally slow?, mild Self-harm, over abundance of dialogue, vaguely suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-06-05 14:57:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6709552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windlion/pseuds/Windlion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hux did not expect to spend the journey to the Supreme Leader troubleshooting Snoke's apprentice's fractured emotions.  On the other hand, he had his orders to provide Kylo Ren in one piece, and if he failed in this task, he suspected it would be his last.</p>
<p>Kylo Ren did not expect that digging into General Hux's flaws would reveal so many of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Calculating course to the destination coordinates …  estimated time to arrival, sixty-one hours, sir.”

Hux tried not to be obvious about releasing the breath he was trying valiantly not to hold.  Sixty-one hours to negotiate the twisting series of jumps that would scrub their trail in case any lingering Resistance fighters were cheeky enough to track the _Finalizer_ since the destruction of the Starkiller had left them limping away.  

Sixty-one hours until he had to stand before the Supreme Leader in person and accept what was likely the death of his career, if not his own, with something approximating grace.  The headache that had been pounding behind his eyes for two days straight pulsed in time to his heartbeat.  He managed to keep his voice level as he answered, “Thank you,  Lieutenant Mitaka.  Signal stand down after the jump to hyperspace, but keep alpha squadron on call with beta in reserve.”

He doubted that the Resistance had any access to any Interdictor-class cruisers suitable to pull the _Finalizer_ out of hyperspace, but he wouldn’t put it past any of his fellow generals desiring to put the nail in his coffin themselves.  There’d been any number who had been waiting, counting the minutes until his golden boy star fell.  The first leaps would be straight into the heart of First Order space, ostensibly to discourage the Resistance from following.

Sometimes, Hux wondered which was the frying pan and which was the fire.

He surreptitiously tightened his grip on his opposite wrist held behind his back, a counterpoint of pain to draw his scattered attention back to the problem at hand.  No point in dwelling on it.  He had his orders, and he would fulfill them.  That was all.  Speaking of… there was a duty he couldn’t delegate.

Hux nodded to his XO, “I will bring the news to Lord Ren directly.  You have the bridge.”

“Yes, sir, I have the bridge.”  Despite the crisp salutes and formalities, he could hear the unspoken, “Better you than me.”  Hux ignored the sympathetic look as he turned on his heel and began his trek towards the med bay.  He had a reputation for not shrinking back from a challenge, and he didn’t intend to start now.  

The route between the bridge and med bay was getting dismally familiar.  Hux had seen its insides far more in the past fourty-eight hours than he had in in the last four years. (Since that one near-disastrous mission Phasma refused to let him live down.  Hux still maintained that his casualty was insignificant as they’d achieved the objective, but she held a … different point of view.)  The lift was empty at this late hour mid-shift; Hux allowed his shoulders to relax and studied his reflection in the brushed metal doors.

Spare uniform presentable, hair in place; that much was to standards.  Otherwise, his complexion was more grey than its customary pale, lips chapped from an unfortunate nervous habit, deep shadows turning his eyes into hollow pits, the edge of deep red-purple bruises barely hidden by his high collar.  He wouldn’t be mistaken for the First Order’s poster boy today.

Hux couldn’t stop the grim smirk he flashed at his reflection before the doors opened.  That was one more thing that was dead and gone, along with the superweapon he’d sunk far too many hours into.  Exploded into so much shrapnel.  Let the shards of his vanity be a navigational hazard to those who would follow in his wake; it was only appropriate.

It took him a moment to overcome inertia and push himself to motion again, stepping out in the instant before the doors closed.  The medbay entrance was strategically close to multiple lift tubes; only intelligent design when seconds could be the difference between life and death.  At least he couldn’t hear any screaming as he approached this time.  Small mercies.

Hux stepped through the door and scanned his eyes across the bay, taking in the rows of filled beds, the haggard-looking aides and whirring med-droids.  Two days after the fighting, the worst of the casualties were settled one way or another, but there was still a hum of activity involved in keeping the recovering stable, managing the turn over as the lightly wounded were released and the more heavily wounded rotated out of bacta tanks.  

Regrettably they’d only managed to keep Kylo Ren successfully sedated and tanked for the first twenty-six hours.  Hux had been drawn straight from his quarters and an ineffectual attempt to sleep to deal with that nonsense.  He’d had no patience to deal with Ren himself; the man a bacta-slick drowned rat mess slumped over the edge an exam table, trying to inflict grievous bodily harm on everyone in the vicinity with his glare alone.  It would have been more impressive if he wasn’t shaking too hard to stand straight and couldn’t focus his eyes properly.

Hux had had a terse conversation with the head doctor, “Is he endangering his life leaving the tank now?”

“That wound in his side is barely closed.  If it splits open, we’re back where we started.”  The doctor had folded her arms, somehow managing to give the impression of looking at both of them down her nose when she was easily a head shorter than both men in the room.  “With rest and constant medical supervision, it might be stabilized.”

Hux had walked through an over-flowing medbay to reach the bacta recovery room; walked past officers, pilots and troopers fighting for life.  The only thing Ren was fighting was himself.  Hux had compressed his lips into a line, teeth sinking into the edges before he caught himself.  “There’s a waiting list for the tanks.  Don’t waste the bacta on someone so determined to find himself an early grave.”

Ren had made an abortive movement at that, attempted to raise his head to snarl– and Hux merely looked at him, somehow simultaneously too angry to be sympathetic and too weary to be baited.  “You heard the doctor. Bed rest, and behave until you’re fit to be released.  For once in your life, try not to plow ahead and leave blood trails behind you.”

Ren had reeled as if slapped.  

Then there had been a call from the bridge and actual business to attend to, and that was that.

It was the visit _after_ that which had been conducted at altogether higher level of volume and vitriol, which left a rather indelible mark on his throat, a nagging urge to cough and a certain huskiness to his tone.  The less said about that incident the better.

Hux didn’t blame the medical officers for watching his approach with trepidation.  He nodded to the doctors on duty, then diverted neatly into the wing of private rooms.  Of course Lord Ren rated a private room, despite the full beds of the infirmary; Hux suspected if he himself were bedridden, he would have been in close quarters, but there was no sense in exposing anyone else to the Force-user’s tender mercies.  

As it was the medical droid hovering nervously outside Ren’s door had rather more dents in it than he remembered not even fifteen hours previously.  Hux glanced at it sidelong, calculating the repair bill automatically.  “Good evening.  How is Lord Ren?”

The silver droid bowed, four arms fluttering, “Restive, General.  He refuses sedatives and anesthetics.”

Hux did not sigh. “And his injuries?”

“Only marginal improvement since last report, sir.”  The droid cut off as the head doctor stepped in behind him.  

Steely-eyed and grey-haired, she may as well have been a droid herself. Her voice was scalpel-sharp, dry, “What HMV-049 means is that he’s stroppy.  Lord Ren won’t heal properly without rest and medicine.”

Hux frowned, “Thank you for your medical opinion, Dr. Hareed.  When can he be moved?”

“If he stays stable?”  The woman was famous for taking on the most pigheaded officers and troopers alike, keeping them alive and sending them back to battle only when she was certain they’d won the last one.  “Maybe fourty-eight hours, he could be released to quarters if that quarrel wound is sealed properly.  He shouldn’t be on his feet for a week.”

“We have sixty hours.”  Hux smiled tightly at the doctor’s protest, “Supreme Leader Snoke has requested Ren’s immediate appearance.  In person.”

She fell silent for a moment, “It is good to know what we’re up against.  But healing a damaged body isn’t like repairing a technical malfunction where you can throw more engineers and spare parts at the problem to meet a deadline.”

“I’m not expecting miracles, Doctor.  Just do what you can to keep him upright.”  Hux turned away to face the door, automatically steeling himself for the verbal battle sure to ensue.

Dr. Hareed stared at him, unfriendly. “You’re not going to make this any easier, are you, General.”

It wasn’t a question, but Hux found a weary, bitter smile crossing his face as he answered regardless, “No, probably not.”

His chief medical officer likely hated him, but at least she was honest about it.  He could respect that, far preferred it to sycophants who’d stab him at their first chance.  Hux had never been one to worry about winning over hearts and minds, so long as he could trust the professionalism of their results.

The private room was dark after the bright corridor, lights at one-third strength, with Kylo Ren a dimly-lit shape on the medical cot.  Ren must not have been asleep; he shoved up on one elbow to scowl at Hux, “Back for more already?”

Hux stopped a few feet from the bed, taking stock of Ren’s condition.  At least this time his eyes focused; skin still sallow, a faint sheen of sweat on his face and curling the hair at his temples.  The gash across his face was the angry red of new skin, barely sealed by the time in bacta.  The bandages holding the bacta patches against his side and shoulder were visible where the blanket fell to his waist.  Hux supposed Ren must have been cooperating somewhat as there were only spots of blood seeping through above his hip.  

What was more telling than his physical condition was the red-rimmed eyes and haggardness written on the younger man’s face.  Even recumbent, Ren hunched into himself, as if he could fall into a black hole of his own devising and vanish if he tried hard enough.  It was a contradiction Hux had never understood about him, that he could stalk through the halls larger than life one moment, then try to shrink into himself the next, as if his over-sized frame would allow it.  He said evenly, “Ren.  You’re looking … like death warmed over.”

A faint smirk hitched the corners of Ren’s mouth, “You don’t look much better, General.”

Hux swallowed against the soreness of his throat, what was most likely just the memory of the taste of blood lingering in his mouth along with the sulfurous smoke and ozone that had coated him inside and out after Starkiller’s demise.  Instead of rubbing at the bruises, Hux lifted a brow back at him, “And who’s fault is that?”

Ren didn’t look repentant, not that Hux expected it of him. “Did you come just to point fingers?”

“No.”  Hux indicated the streaking stars of hyperspace through the window, uncertain when they’d actually made the jump.  Shame, that; he usually paid better attention.  “We’ve received the coordinates for the Supreme Leader’s base.  We should rendezvous within sixty-one hours.”

Ren drawled, “In that much of a hurry to get rid of me?”

Ironic, considering which of them was likely to walk away from the encounter.  Hux grasped at his waning professionalism with the same feeling as watching his lone escape craft slide over a cliff, “I am following the Supreme Leader's orders, the same as you.”  He flicked a gaze over Ren’s bandages, “If there’s anything you can do to piece yourself together faster, I suggest you do so.  I’m assuming you have something in mind for yourself if you’re refusing medical attention.”  

From the way Ren’s brows knit, perhaps he was giving the idiot too much credit.  Ren’s right arm tightened around his ribs, fingers absently clutching at the pad over the deepest wound.  Hux refused to speculate if he saw the blood spots darken.  “Pain is part of the path to the Dark Side.”

Hux blamed the last three days in general for his response. He snapped, “ _Please_.  As if you can’t furnish enough suffering to satisfy your masochism with your body whole. You won’t do yourself any favors if you can’t stand before Snoke.”

“Is that all you care about?” Ren sneered back, “Delivering the goods intact?”

“I have my orders!”  Hux found he’d taken the two steps closer to Ren’s bedside; he only had to reach out to yank Ren’s hand away from the bandage.  He could feel the warm damp of blood through his glove. “ _This_ helps no one.”

“Careful, Hux, you sound like you’re _personally invested_.”  Ren snared Hux’s hand before he could pull away like he’d grasped the searing heat of a blaster barrel.  Something caught Ren’s gaze immediately, dark eyes focused intently on their hands.  Hux frowned back, trying one futile yank to free himself; even in this state the knight of Ren had enough muscle that his grip was like iron.  

Ren breathed out, “Hypocrite.”

Hux finally realized what drew Ren’s attention when the man rubbed his thumb across the exposed inch of skin between his glove and where his uniform sleeve rode up; the touch across the overly-sensitive bruise sent an involuntary shiver through him.  Even in the dim light, it was noticeably mottled darkly– Hux hadn’t realized it had progressed that far.  There was no point protesting it wasn’t self-inflicted, though he imagined if the crew noticed someone would have started placing bets on a lurid love life before long.

He felt the full weight of Ren’s regard pressing on him now, expression grim and horribly knowing.   This time, when Hux twisted his wrist and pulled away, Ren let him go.  Hux couldn’t help bringing his hands to his chest, clasping his hand over the offending wrist as if he could somehow shield it from discussion.  Erase the ghostly feeling of Ren’s touch.

“It’s not the same, and you know it.”  It sounded weaker spoken aloud, and Hux winced to hear it.  He pressed on regardless, “Snoke expects you to return for training.  You had best be capable.”

Unspoken: Snoke wouldn’t go easy on Kylo Ren, no matter what state he showed up in.  It hardly mattered what shape Hux was in, after all.

Ren narrowed his eyes at him, something like a second revelation dawning beside the first.  His voice was still that horrible soft tone that shouldn’t belong to a man who murdered as a way of living.  “You think you’re going to die.”

The sheer inanity of the statement protected him from reacting to the strange turn this had taken.  Hux sighed, “We all die, Lord Ren.”

“But Snoke… why?”  There was something terribly young about Kylo Ren’s bafflement, that obscenely open face.  Hux felt a sudden inexplicable stab of emotion, both missing and hating Kylo’s ridiculous helmet in that moment.

To regain his composure, Hux turned away and strode to the window, overly aware of Kylo Ren behind him and the passing of stars before him.  “The First Order breeds loyalty to the First Order.”

In some cases more literally than others.  Hux was objective enough to see his father’s ideals at work in both the stormtrooper training and his own upbringing.  They were more alike than not; there were reasons he was able to implement their conditioning with such skill and little remorse.  He wasn’t asking his men to endure anything he hadn’t.

A humorless smile creased his face.  “It’s not a monarchy, or a dictatorship, like the Knights of Ren.  One general is much the same as another.”

He was not a man given to allowing himself delusions, especially delusions of grandeur.  It was one of many reasons he had little patience for Kylo Ren’s unrepentant dramatics; Ren must be one of the least self-aware individuals he’d ever encountered.  Certainly the most powerful.

Which was its own sting to his pride, seeing this over-wrought, uncontrolled child flinging his authority and power around with no forethought or strategy.  Like all children, Kylo Ren thought someone else would bear the consequences.  Hux wished the best of luck to the next bearer of that burden.

When he glanced over his shoulder, Ren had shifted painfully to sit up, staring at him like a stranger.  “Why would you…  You didn’t fail.”

“Being a general means taking responsibility for all your men.  For failures as well as successes.”  Stars knew he wasn’t able to follow all of the maths and physics that had poured into the design of Starkiller, but he was given credit for the project nonetheless.  Because it was his people, his engineers, thus his ingenuity by proxy at work.  

Hux forced himself to take a deep breath, welcoming the brief sting of pain in his throat.  It was better than the cold lump of weariness taking up residence in his chest.  Time for a change of subject.  “Snoke will welcome you.  You may not have beaten the girl, but you passed your test.”

Of all things, Kylo laughed, a sharp bark torn from his throat.  Hux turned back in alarm, in time to see Kylo’s face crumple in devastation.  Oh.  No, no, he was wrong, his own empty weariness was much better than this.  

Kylo knotted his hands in the hospital bedsheets, the broken laughter shaking his broad shoulders. “Of course you knew.”

Hux stayed completely still, lips pressed close as if even a word would tip the balance between spite and devastation.  He had no desire to be Kylo Ren’s whipping boy again, and this … The knight of Ren looked more wrecked than he had when Hux had found him bleeding in the snow.  The wounds on his body had nothing on the wounds on his psyche.  Kylo Ren had passed his test, but he was the furthest thing from unscathed.

Kylo blazed at him suddenly, “You think I lost to the girl and the traitor on purpose?!”

Hux swallowed back the immediate protest that he thought nothing of the sort, because… it made a certain kind of sense.  He clenched his hands against the clammy feeling of Kylo’s blood drying on his gloves like a terrible premonition.  He kept his voice clear and low, “I think you did what you had to.”

What did it matter if it was orders, from Snoke, from the Force, or some inherent self-destructive tendencies.  Kylo’s demons drove him hard before them.

Kylo scrubbed a hand back through his hair, the thick waves of it standing up around his head like a mane.  “What I did–”  He swallowed, then continued, “It was supposed to release attachments.  Remove sentiment.”

Hux couldn’t help the low noise of understanding he made.  Of course.  Of course something like that would appeal to Kylo.  The poor bastard.   Kylo was overflowing with emotion, more than any one man could contain.  He could cut every tie to every soul he knew, sever it with a blade of blood, and he would _still_ be himself, ablaze with passion and fury.

Kylo stared at him, belligerence battling with something unreadable, “You think it was worthless.  That I can’t rid myself of these weaknesses.”

Hux sighed, speaking up if just to keep Kylo from rooting around in his brain to voice his opinions for him.  “I think you proved something to yourself.  What you learn from it is up to you.”  

Hells, Kylo might one day even learn some self-awareness.  That might be worth the evidently long list of bridges Kylo felt he had to burn through.  There was some petty corner of himself that could see Kylo’s suffering and still envy it.  Kylo was an open book; to see his face was to know him.  And of the two of them, Hux hardly felt qualified to judge.  Stars knew it would hardly have torn Hux up this much to put a blaster bolt between his own father’s eyes.

Kylo recoiled abruptly, and Hux wondered with some detached amusement if that thought had made it through.  He finally pulled off his soiled gloves before they dried stiff, noting idly it was hardly the first time he’d had them soaked through with blood.  He stated dryly, “You’re not the only monster here, Kylo Ren.”

Better to be a monster than a man, wasn’t it?  Though his demons were an entirely different shape than Kylo Ren’s.  The void of space, where Kylo’s was the abrupt blaze of a supernova.

Kylo frowned at him, almost visibly shifting moods again.  He leaned forward, propping himself up with his elbow on his knee.  “You mean that.”

Hux set his gloves aside as he leaned against the window sill, freeing his hands to run over his face. He stopped himself just short of disturbing his hair.  “You know perfectly well I rarely say things I don’t mean.”

So few people bothered to notice.  Kylo Ren ought to have had the advantage in that, given his proclivities for mentally looming over shoulders much as he did in person.  Well.  It hardly mattered now.

Kylo’s voice went devastatingly soft and husky again, “You don’t think anyone will miss you.”

It was Hux’s turn to laugh, low and weary rather than high and desperate, “Please, don’t tell me you needed to read me for that.   It should be self-evident.”

Not everyone had family who would follow them half-way across the galaxy, through hell and high water and bloodstains.  Not everyone made instantaneous connections with just an open glance.  

Kylo had gone young and haunted again, but it was better than the broken anger from before.  Hux amused himself with noting how the man could somehow go between brooding raptor and hangdog in the space of a breath.  An unusually expressive face.  “Not even your crew?  Your captain?”

“They’re professionals.  Captain Phasma prides herself on putting the First Order above any officer.”  Hux smiled faintly, “I am perfectly confident in their ability to continue on in my absence.”

That was what good subordinates were for, keeping the wheel turning with or without your input, and he had the best.  That would be his legacy; competence, and a smooth transition.  If the other newly-minted General, whomever they jumped up in his stead, happened to fumble, it would hardly be his crew’s fault.

Kylo’s breath hitched unexpectedly, his mouth twisting. Of all things, he had the gall to sound disappointed, “You’ve already accepted it.”

Hux stiffened despite himself and abruptly decided he was done with this unprecedented heart to heart  He pushed off from the window sill, preparing to make his exit.  “Not all of us have the energy to fight every last iota of the universe, Kylo.  A good strategist plans every eventuality possible.”  

He wasn’t expecting the hand that shot out to grab his as he passed, Kylo’s grasp unexpectedly hot on bare skin as he pulled him up short.  Hux froze, caught between shock and indignation as Kylo pinned him with an intense look.   His voice was low and commanding, “Hux.   _Stay_.”

There was more than one way to read that and Hux blamed the abrupt skin-on-skin contact for him even considering the alternatives.  It wasn’t as if Ren meant it–  his heart had no business trip-hammering like that.  He blanked his face and mind deliberately, pulling away sharply in a way that would have Ren tipping out of the bed if he tried to follow.  “Unlike you, I’m not an invalid, and there’s still a great deal of work to be done cleaning up after the last battle.”

And preparing for any lying in wait.  His duty wasn’t done until he turned Kylo Ren over intact to the Supreme Leader, after all, and he’d be damned if he let anyone else steal the knight out from under him while he still had breath.

Kylo Ren watched him go, his expression gone closed and strange.  “How long did you say we had?”

Hux hovered with his hand at the door panel, looking back over his shoulder.  And _now_ he was concerned?  “Roughly sixty hours.”  Give or take however long he’d been engaged in this pointless exercise.

Kylo tossed him a sharp, devil may care grin that transformed his face into something wicked and breathtaking. “You get us there.  I’ll be ready.”

Hux wasn’t sure he should dignify that outrageous statement with a reply, but he satisfied himself with an arch look to cover his nerves, “I’ll hold you to that.”  

Hux left the med bay unaccosted by medical staff this time, with the oddest feeling of having had the ground change under his feet.  On Starkiller, he had felt everything destroyed and falling to ash and ruin beneath him.  Now…  it felt like something growing.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux hated encountering people with more ambition than brains. He may have a temporary leave of sanity. He blamed Ren for not being there to shoulder the burden of recklessness.

_He was walking forward slowly, each step careful, precise._  
  
_He had to be: the footing below was precarious, the rocks of the lake bed slick and rounded beneath his heels. He had no idea how long he had been walking, when he had stepped off the shore and into the black water.  Perhaps in the dark, the dead calm of the lake had been indistinguishable from the ground underfoot until he had already committed.  He should have stopped at the first splash, certainly before the ice cold water sloshed over the tops of his boots, but something compelled him._  
  
_His goal was ahead.  He had never shirked the hardest road, had never taken any other route than what lay before him._  
  
_Past his knees, the way became slower and more treacherous, water first soaking, then lifting the hem of the greatcoat and fanning it behind him, black-on-black._  
  
_The surface was so very still, so very dark. Thick cloud cover choked the sky such that there was no light above to dance upon it, only the breath-stealing cold of the lake to distinguish between air above and water below._  
  
_He felt the numb overtaking him, and all else beneath was determination.  To continue.  To move so smoothly, his passage would not disturb the water._  
  
_He can see his own pale face reflected as the water climbs to his chest, only the heaviness of his boots keeping his feet down.  That was the point of duty, as Hux had always understood it.   Anchor and burden both._  
  
_The greatcoat finally lifted off his shoulders as the water lapped at his chin, and when Hux stepped forward once more, water closed overhead and everything fell away–_

 

Hux woke up when the hard jolt rolled him into the wall adjacent to his bunk.  He was half-upright before the lurch reversed direction, using the momentum to swing his feet down to the deck.  That was easier than anticipated; apparently he had collapsed directly on top of his bed covers the night before, after having spent a shade too long in the fresher where he risked falling asleep under the rare luxury of hot water.  

Perhaps that was where the dream came from, the images already fading while he called up the lights. Adrenaline did wonders to shake off the lingering grasp of cold water.  Hux rubbed his face, grimacing at the scratch of stubble as he glanced at the chrono: 02:25.

He’d had perhaps two hours of sleep. And now someone had gone pulling them out of hyperspace in the middle of the night.  How rude.  Sometimes, Hux hated being right.

He pulled himself to his feet, wary of additional jolts, and tapped the com at his desk, “Bridge, status report.”

“Sir!  We’ve encountered an artificial gravity well.  Hyperdrive offline.  Long-range sensors are showing three frigate-sized ships in system.  Astronav is verifying location and engineering is determining the damage.”

“Pray be _accurate,_ and maintain our distance while on current heading.”  Hux spared a moment’s sympathy to the delta watch Commander even as he hauled on his uniform trousers, then stamped into his boots. “Bring us to amber alert, weapons systems online.  Keep the bay doors closed, but have squadrons 01 through 04 prepare to launch and get 05 through 08 on deck.  Squadrons 09 to 12 to standby.”

“Yes, sir!”  

“Forward the reports to my data pad as soon as possible.  I’ll be on the bridge shortly.” He tapped the com off, letting the Commander get on with the business of not crashing them into whomever invited them to what was undoubtedly the back end of nowhere.

Three frigates?   He doubted that, he doubted that very much.  It only took one _Interdictor_ -class cruiser to pull even a _Resurgent_ -class star destroyer out of hyperspace, but it would take far more than the scant dozen of TIEs they’d have on board to take them down.  They’d be a fool if they closed enough to use their turbolasers and cannons; the _Finalizer_ would outgun and outshoot them before they could release more than a single broadside.

Hux strapped on his blaster, taking the time to cinch the belt properly even as he regretfully decided he’d have to skip his customary grooming habits.  While appearance was crucial to maintaining order, battle priorities were for what was necessary.

Emergency notifications flared to life across his pad before he could even reach for his shirt, the com following immediately, “General!  Three more ships just dropped from hyperspace immediately behind us- another _Interdictor_ and two _Maxima-A_ heavies! They’re almost inside our shields!”

_Ah, there they are_. The sensor data all but screamed of collision alerts with the three ships bearing down on their exhaust.  That was closely timed and located; the _Interdictor_ cruiser in front of them must have been tight-beaming coordinates to their compatriots.  “Engage sublight engines to full, get us out of that _Interdictor_ ’s tractor range!”  

“Yes, sir! Sublight engines are operating at 78% capacity.”  

So that was their game: whoever this was didn’t want to give them a chance to reverse and dodge, and any ship held taut between two _Interdictor_ ’s gravity well projectors at full had almost no chance of maneuverability.  The _Finalizer_  had a wicked armament that wouldn’t mean much if they couldn’t be brought to bear.  He gave them credit for considering what they could best accomplish with limited resources.

Hux skipped his long-sleeve shirt and hurried to haul his tunic over his head, merely grabbing his greatcoat and data pad before he rushed out the door.   Sensor data was slowly filing in for the ships positioned in-system for them; an entirely separate trio of an _Interdictor_ with two flanking _Maxima-A_ ’s like hulking guard dogs, attempting a classic ambush with pincer attack.   The _Maxima-A_ s from behind were advancing readily ahead of their _Interdictor,_ while the trio before them held a stationary reverse-wedge, one cruiser off-set above and the other below.  

Hux ignored the troopers sharing the lift as he shrugged into his greatcoat, trying to gather his thoughts.      Given their mass and crippled engines, the _Finalizer_ couldn’t outrun the heavy cruisers long.  That they hadn’t fired or launched starfighters yet … was interesting, and likely only a matter of time.  Waiting to see if Hux would strike the first blow of his fellow’s blood.

No capital ships meant someone was playing the plausible deniability card.   _Interdictor_ -class cruisers were still available on the market in not-inconsiderable quantity for the highest bidder since the Empire’s collapse.  Star destroyers, much less _Resurgent_ -class or greater star destroyers, were much fewer, with more easily-traced pedigrees as they were predominantly the domain of the First Order. So long as they did not involve their flagship, any number of his peers could act against him and be reasonably certain of avoiding reprisal.

They just had to avoid leaving any evidence.  Hux didn’t intend to allow them that satisfaction.  

Hux took a second to finger-comb his hair out of his face before he left the lift, hoping vaguely it was still damp enough to stay put in a semblance of order.  The corridors were increasingly occupied as he approached the bridge in his ground-eating quick strides that were just short of breaking into a run. As he entered the bridge, it was like stepping into the guts of an engine in motion; there was a cacophony of noise, reports being rattled off swiftly from one control board operator after another, the smooth flow of moving parts working together.

It took a second for a harried junior officer to spot him and put up the call, “General on deck!”

Hux wasted no time in joining Commander Holt at the central holodisplay, ignoring the salutes thrown his way.  If Holt was relieved, Hux was polite enough not to notice,  “Commander.”

“General, sir.”  Holt was usually one of Hux’s most unflappable commanders, being that delta shift usually bore the most chance of unexpected excitement but the least chance of regular overlap with the day shifts.  Today, there was a sheen of sweat on his brow, thinning salt and pepper hair ever-so-slightly disarrayed.  “We have identification of the ships, sir.  They’re not broadcasting any IFF signals, but we were able to independently verify based on build, engine signatures and repairs.”  He pointed in turn to the ones before, then behind, “The alpha group is the _Blackthorn_ , with the _Indomitable_ and _Tyrannic_ , then the beta group _Relentless_ with the _Penalizer_ and _Iniquitous_.  They’re all from General Geraent’s chain of command.”  

Hux nodded, remembering a human woman perhaps five years older than him whose pleasant face had held flinty eyes.  Vyr Geraent held the Abreenan planetary system and a relatively modest fleet, with only one _Imperial II_ class star destroyer—she’d risen quickly through the ranks, then seen her career plateau as the other more mobile Generals distinguished themselves.  Hux particularly recalled her bitterness over not being assigned the Starkiller project, where she felt her weapons manufacturing factories would have been put to good use.  

“The beta group is in pursuit, with the _Iniquitous_ in the lead.”  There were gradients on the holodisplay’s projection indicating both the weapons range and the tractor range of the pursuing ships, and the _Finalizer_ was slowly losing ground.  If their engines were at full, they would have been able to hold the lead indefinitely.  It went without saying that all hyperspace exit vectors would be smothered by the _Interdictor_ cruisers.

Still the trio before them sat ominously immobile.  Not only were they losing their race, they were being herded.  Hux forced himself to unclench his jaw to ask, “Projected time to intercept for beta group?”

Holt barely glanced at his readouts.  “Fifty seconds, sir.  Five minutes and twenty seconds to alpha.  Weapons systems are hot on all ships.”  

Hux nodded shortly, “The squadrons?”  
  
“Squadrons 01 to 04 are ready to launch as soon as the bay doors clear, with squadrons 05 to 08 behind them.  Squadrons 09 to 12 can begin launching one minute-twenty behind them.”

If they had to launch fighters, this was going to be a mess.  Their opponents’ total starfighter count was a third less than the _Finalizer_ ’s complement, but the heavy cruisers would put down serious fire which could take out a TIE in one salvo.  They’d been engaged in open space where there was no cover for the TIEs, which favored the heavy cruisers.  And left plenty of approach vectors open for additional reinforcements.

Speaking of reinforcements, Hux frowned at Holt, “Lord Ren?”

Holt visibly winced, “No change, sir.”

No sense expecting anything from that quarter, then.  After their conversation, Ren had gone and put himself into some sort of self-induced coma.  Trance state, Dr. Hareed had called it.  It appeared to be knitting his wounds faster, and it kept Kylo Ren mercifully occupied and out of his hair, but it was … disturbing, to see the man who was anything but self-contained be silent and still.  Hux set aside the Force-user from his calculations and moved onward.

Where they were—that was another factor.  They were at the outer third of a star system, where they would have skimmed through on the far side of  the orbit of one of three massive gas planets, with two bare, terrestrial planets closely orbiting a red giant star.  Virstan VI– which meant they were in _General Praxis’_ s territory to patrol.  Either she had tacit permission, or Geraent was trespassing.  Either way, Hux did not enjoy the thought of Praxis’s super star-destroyer _Immeasurable_ waiting in the wings.  That Praxis was a self-important sod, a would-be schemer, and a close contemporary of his father did not improve Hux’s opinion of the situation.

A com officer interrupted Hux’s thoughts, “General, we’re being hailed from the _Blackthorn_!”

“Open everything but the most external bay doors and prepare TIEs to launch.” _Thirty seconds on the clock.  This ought to be interesting_.  Hux straightened, clasping his hands behind his back.“Put it through.”  

Unsurprisingly, it was Vyr Geraent herself, sitting with her legs crossed and arms draped over the arms of a throne-like chair on what appeared to be the bridge.  Hux hid his distaste for the display; Geraent was ever ostentatious.  She smiled, false cheer covering the delight of a feral dog who smelled blood, “General Hux, fancy meeting you like this.  I must say it’s a joy to see you this way, in disgrace.”  

Hux refused to think about the rumors of her proclivities and answered coldly, “General Geraent.  I am carrying out Leader Snoke’s orders to summon his favored Knight of Ren.  What is the meaning of this interruption?”  

“I should think it’s obvious—you’re on your way out, dear Brendol. Your Knight has been recalled from your care.  I’m here to help complete your duty for you, since you have proven yourself unworthy.” She leaned back, folding her arms, “You have twenty seconds to agree to surrender Kylo Ren gracefully.  Or Lady Tamat Ren and I will take custody of him … _forcefully_.”

That threw him for a moment.  He had gotten, if not complacent, familiar with their resident Force-user.  There was a temptation to think of Kylo Ren as just Ren, a singular entity unto himself, instead of a Knight of Ren. Lady Tamat Ren wasn’t the most fearful of their number, but underestimating a Knight was an excellent way to get one’s self killed.  From what he recalled, Tamat used a halberd.  Even with that rather unorthodox weapon, Hux could far too easily see her slaughtering her way through the _Finalizer_ ’s crowded corridors to the med bay.

Hux would not entertain the thought of Kylo Ren waking up too late to carnage.  He let his fingers dig into the soft bruises on the opposite wrist and smiled like winter, “How generous of you to offer options.”  

Geraent outright smirked at him, “Ask nicely, and I might even keep you alive.”

Hux paused deliberately, hiding his swell of revulsion, then tipped his head to one side, “What a shame, the only orders I see fit to follow are the Supreme Leader’s.   _No_.”

He gestured sharply to the com officer, cutting the transmission.  “Open the launch doors.  Change heading, bring us up 45 degrees vertical, twenty five degrees to starboard.  Port engines all speed possible, starboard engines to three-quarters of maximum available.  Launch squadrons 01 through 08.”  

“Incoming canon fire from the _Iniquitous_!”

Hux snapped, “Get clear, we’re not going to risk hitting our fighters with crossfire.”  He gripped the edge of the arch of the command console, bracing for the shudders of dispersed damage and the oncoming inertial shift. The bridge lurched a half second later as the course correction took place, setting them on a diagonal corkscrew cutting across towards the heavy cruiser _Indomitable_ above the _Blackthorn_. The evasion should keep the following cruisers from getting a solid target lock on the bay doors, at least long enough for the TIEs to launch in enough numbers to become their own threat.

Hux watched the projector as the glowing red dots indicating TIEs were strewn behind them evenly, “Squadrons 01 to 03, prioritize the _Iniquitous_.  Squadrons 04 to 06, the _Penalizer_. Damage the engines if you can.  07 and 08, screen incoming fighters and take out the _Relentless_ ’s gravity well projectors.”

Hux fell silent as Holt stepped in, coordinating quickly with coms and the flight control officer to marshal the pilots.  He dimly recognized his own voice sounded odd, a brittle facade of dispassionate calm over a well of rage.  How _dare_ she.  The gall, to attack another loyal First Order ship, much less a capital ship…   A capital ship which held not only its own staff but thousands upon thousands of refugees from their Starkiller base. As if she wanted to make the rout complete!  

Hux was indescribably relieved to see the mirror-shine of chromium armor out of the corner of his eye.  Captain Phasma was, if nothing else, a dependable known quantity in this morass.  She stepped forward to catch his attention, saluting, “Sir, we have thirty AALs ready to deploy, and another twenty will be prepared in under five minutes.”

Of course she did, because she was gloriously competent even after also being rudely awoken off-shift. The AALs weren’t nimble enough to launch while the _Finalizer_ was still engaged in its spiraling evasive maneuvers; they would have to time this carefully.  Hux sketched their trajectory with one hand, skimming out past the wing of the heavy cruiser.  “Prepare the first wave to launch as quickly as possible.   We’ll have a window when we loop to overtake _Indomitable._ ”

“Yes, sir.”

Phasma straightened, obviously prepared to take that as her marching orders, when Hux shook his head slightly.  “I have a better use for you than knocking down Vyr Geraent’s door.  You will take command of the remaining trooper transports.  Keep them back until there is a window to launch and the TIE fighters clear a path in to take the _Relentless_.”

Phasma paused, “Lady Ren will be on board the _Relentless_?”

It was less a question than a statement.  And it was one of the primary reasons he’d worked quickly to put as much space between the _Finalizer_ and the _Relentless_ as possible.  Knights of Ren were … difficult to handle.  Hux smiled grimly, “Yes, she will, and she will undoubtedly be attempting to board the _Finalizer_ given the chance.  We cannot let that happen.  If you have any heavy weapons experts available…”

“Yes, sir.” Phasma paused, and he could almost swear she sounded smug through the helmet filter, “I have five AALs manned with special forces strike teams.”

Hux couldn’t stop his eyebrows rising, and Phasma provided, “They were based on Starkiller.”

“Good work.  They’re yours to deploy.” That almost eased him, even as he watched enemy TIEs spring onto the map from all sides.  And there it was, a Lambda shuttle launching from the _Relentless_ as expected.Except he _wasn’t_ seeing. .  . He murmured, “Why isn’t she advancing?”

Phasma closed to his elbow, both to better see the holo display and to hear him over the hubbub of the bridge operating around them, “What do you mean?”

“This would be the perfect opportunity for the alpha group to close distance with us, to pincer and hold the _Finalizer_. Have the _Maxima-A_ ’s above and below destroy our TIEs before they can launch, use the heavy ion cannons to open a hole their AAL’s and shuttles can break through.  But they’re just holding.”

Even an additional minute was a small lifetime in a firefight.  What was her plan?  Were there mines?

He had the feeling Phasma was looking at him oddly, “Sir.  She’s holding a blockade.”

Oh, for the love of …  Geraent held a _planetary_ _system_.  She sent her Knight out to forage with her fleet, in small hunting parties.  She thought in terms of blockades, of fortresses and fixed batteries. She thought of _capturing objectives_ and _subduing leadership._ Obviously she hadn’t had quite the same hard education in scale, flexibility, and guerrilla tactics that the Resistance had been teaching him.  And she had the nerve to think Hux had already failed and deserved to roll over, to serve Ren up on a silver platter…

“I don’t believe it.  She’s an idiot.”  Hux stared blankly at the holodisplay, attempting to force his swirling thoughts to settle into one cohesive direction that wasn’t simply, “Murder.”  Was this what Ren felt like all the time?  He could only imagine.  It would be so immensely satisfying to prove to that woman that Hux was nothing at all what she thought. What she thought…

“Sir?”

No, actually, that sounded like a plan. “I have slept perhaps ten hours in the last five days and we are under attack by our peers and I am _annoyed_ _—_ Phasma, I think I am going to do something breathtakingly stupid.”

Irrationally, he wanted to blame Ren.  If the idiot wasn’t playing at comatose down in the med bay, it would have been straightforward; send Ren to obstruct his wayward Knight as she landed, let Phasma lead her troopers in taking over the _Relentless_ to secure their flank, and leave Hux the business of directing the dance of titans, using the _Finalizer_ herself to clear the way before them.

Instead he had to get _creative_.

Commander Holt wasn’t close enough to have caught Hux’s quiet, fervent words, but he evidently felt the sea-change: he looked up with alarm as Hux pushed off from the console, stalking across the bridge to where Holt leaned over a secondary console too quickly for Phasma to catch his arm. “Commander Holt, I will be taking to the field.  You will bring the _Finalizer_ to follow through on our course.”

Hux tapped the screen tracking their TIEs deliberately, sketching out the course where the _Finalizer_ could cut up and around perpendicular to the heavy cruiser.  “We will deploy AALs during the banking turn, then you will press the _Indomitable_ at close quarters, full broadside.  Strike their bridge.  I want them out of play as quickly as possible.  Then provide cover fire against the _Tyrannic_ as you see best fit.”  

Holt was too good an officer to let how taken aback he was stop him; he only nodded, eyes a bit wide. “Yes, General.  And the _Blackthorn_?”

“Will be my problem.”  Hux smiled tightly, “The first twenty AALs will be my boarding party for the _Blackthorn,_ then the remaining TIEs will launch, and the second wave of ten AALs will do for _Tyrannic_.”

Boarding parties were rather unorthodox tactics against opposing cruisers in the middle of a dogfight, but Hux had little patience to let this battle be won by the usual method of slow attrition, using the _Finalizer_ ’s superior canons and turbo lasers to break through their lines and shields.  Oh, no.  If Geraent wanted this to be a battle of fortresses and kings—he would storm her castle first.

Hux pulled his eyes away from the cloud of lights that represented their thin defense against the menace of heavy ships pursuing them.  Several had winked out in the seconds that he watched.  Commander Holt by contrast was looking only at him, stern and unreadable.  Hux knew him for a veteran, unimaginative but solid.  He kept his voice even, “We have three minutes to contact.  Your priority, Commander Holt, above all, is the safe delivery of the _Finalizer_ and her crew to the Supreme Leader.  If the situation turns, I expect you to react appropriately.”

Holt looked like a man signing someone else’s death warrant. “Of course, sir.  Good hunting.”

Hux did not smile in battle, did not traditionally laugh in the face of death, but perhaps madness was catching.  “Thank you.  Commander Holt, you have the bridge.”

The entire bridge shifted to salute in an audible snap of fabric, one moment of brief silence in the midst of the mayhem that was battle.  Hux nodded firmly to his crew, fierce joy burning through his chest, before he turned neatly on his heel and stalked out.

Phasma immediately swept in behind him, as if towed in his wake.  As they passed through the bridge doors, he heard her mutter, “I should have expected this.”

Phasma kept pace one step behind him to his right, as was proper.  Hux refused to glance back at her in order to carry on the conversation, instead waiting for her to join him in the otherwise empty lift with an impatient flick of his hand.  Hux stabbed the level for the hangar bays with perhaps more force than was required. “Expected what?“

Phasma didn’t speak until the lift started to move, "You’ve been making the troopers jumpy for the past two days.”

His mind already embroiled in battle plans and logistics, Hux frowned at her, “… Please start making sense, Phasma.”

“The gloves.”  
  
Hux glanced down at his bare hands, one brushing against his blaster holster.  His fingerprint and biometric-keyed blaster.  Understanding dawned slowly, “I see that rumor is still making the rounds.”

Curious that bit of nonsense hadn’t made its way to the command-level staff yet, but they weren’t often on the range when he practiced.  Phasma’s troopers had a better idea of their General’s chosen competencies than most of the bridge. They obeyed him much more readily when the gloves came off.  (Come to think of it, not a soul on the bridge presently had seen him do so. Alpha and beta shift had, certainly, but not delta.)

Phasma snorted indelicately, “Is it a rumor when it’s true?”

“Irrelevant,” Hux countered, then plowed ahead again as the doors opened.  They passed alarmed troopers and pilots alike as they closed in on the hangar bays.  “I’ll be needing one of your special forces AALs.”

“Three, sir.”

“Two at most. Leave one for the _Tyrannic_.”  

Phasma grudgingly conceded, “Fine.  I’ll have one squad shift over to the Upsilon in escort.”

Hux waved dismissively as they turned into the bay. “No need.  They’re already loaded; I’ll join them in the AAL.”

“General- you know the difference in armor classes.”

If they weren’t in public, Phasma would have likely had other words to use for him.  As it was, she had a gift for turning “General” into “You blithering idiot,” even as delivered through vocoder.  Hux smiled blandly at her implacable chrome helmet, well aware of the frustrated expression behind it.  “The element of surprise is worth more than the armor, Captain.  I’d rather Geraent didn’t see me coming.”

Phasma paused to relay orders to her seconds, low but quick words sending columns of armored white troopers streaming in unison, before she turned back to Hux, “You’re confident she’s on the _Blackthorn_?”

“Oh, that’s General Geraent personally on board, I’m certain of it.” Hux smiled grimly, taking his turn to fall in as she led the way towards one of the far AALs. “For one, the _Blackthorn_  is a CC-2020 and the _Relentless_ behind us is an Immobilizer 418 that’s at least a decade older.  Geraent likes her comforts, and she’d always choose to be on the ship to strike the final blow.”

Hux’s lips twisted, “Of course, she’s a backstabber, so she may surprise me yet.”

Phasma radiated disapproval in her sharp steps, “I’m certain you have a plan in place, General.”

Her tone made it clear she thought anything but.  He hadn’t seen Phasma riled like this in years – since the last time he insisted on inspecting planetary build sites in person.  Really, Hux had to deviate from the norm more often if it would make Phasma rise to the occasion like this.  

Phasma stopped short of the gangway into the open transport, beckoning over one of the troopers with the modified armor of the special forces. “General, this is Lieutenant RD-8045.  Lieutenant, provide the General with armor and a rifle.  Make sure he doesn’t do anything . . . reckless.”

It was instantly obvious why Phasma singled out this trooper; tall and lanky beneath the white armor plates, he was almost a match for Hux.  The trooper saluted promptly, helmet vocoder stripping the resignation Hux did not think he was imagining, “Yes, Captain.”  

The call went up from the cockpit, echoed by blaring overhead PA, “Twenty seconds to drop zone!”

Phasma saluted, giving one last glance at her troopers. “You had better be right, General.”

“If I’m wrong, we’ll have a very interesting experience when the _Relentless_ catches up.”  Hux side-stepped past Phasma into the belly of the AAL.  “Good hunting, Captain.”

He intended to give as good as he got.  If Geraent were to set the terms of the fight, she had no right to complain when Hux won them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetaed: please let me know if I've missed anything! This and the next part make me nervous I'm Not Doing It Right, but *deep breaths* moving right along~~~
> 
> Thank you guys so much for the comments and kudos! <3 I am really flattered you guys like my style, you have no idea how many seal-claps and squeaking noises I made. Dialogue and characterization are the things that I focus on and really want to get right, so I am so happy when it works for the readers, too. I have a Thing about responding to comments on AO3, but you can come talk to me and encourage me to write faster on Tumblr! (http://windlion.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not the destination that matters, it’s how you get there: through explosives, overwhelming numbers, subterfuge, and underhanded tactics! (Internal politics, the First Order way.)

The ship shuddered, whether from the sublight engines engaging, the _Finalizer_ shaking under fire, or simply the bay doors opening, Hux couldn't tell. Even before the gangway closed, he was moving up the aisle, the lieutenant shadowing him. The safest point in an AAL was directly before the cockpit, where the bulkheads separated the troopers from their pilot and gunner, but that was like saying there was a safest point in an asteroid field.

He thought he caught an aggrieved noise from the trooper at his heels when he plowed past the divide into the cockpit. “Sir-”

Hux waved a hand to cut him off, instead catching hold of the back of the gunner's chair as the AAL lifted off. “I'm not flying blind. Status?”

The pilot didn't move her gaze from the screen as she responded, though the gunner flinched a look sideways and blanched. “Transports launching. Might be bumpy, sir, there's a lot of traffic out there.”

Even on the reduced screens of the transport, Hux could see the twin rows of AALs smoothly exiting the bay, their own sliding anonymously into sequence near the rear. Nothing to indicate their transport was any different than the others. Good.

By necessity, the AALs had priority to launch during the relatively smooth curve of the _Finalizer_ 's banking turn. They hung vulnerable in the shadow of the _Finalizer_ as she plowed ahead to crowd the _Indomitable_. Hux smirked to himself as the whomever was captaining the _Indomitable_ clearly panicked under the press of the capital ship; the _Indomitable_ moved forward in an attempt to evade, the one direction they really, truly shouldn't have.

Hux calmly leaned past to trigger the ship-to-ship coms, “All AALs in attack group, maintain distance and brace for impact.”

He caught the expression of surprise on the gunner's face in his peripheral vision, but he had no attention to spare from the sight unfolding before him. In the space of seconds, the _Finalizer_ closed to turbolaser range with the _Indomitable_ , and the broadside intended to target straight through the center of the ship instead went directly into the engines.

With predictable effects.

He flicked his eyes closed just in time to avoid the worst of the searing light; ordinarily it pleased him to see his enemies' last moments, but now, he needed to preserve his vision for the fight to come. It still bloomed hot through his eyelids. The shock wave hit at a delay, debris searing brightly against their shields and pinging audibly off their hull. The trooper caught his elbow to steady him as the transport bucked. Hux ignored him, finding himself smiling grimly, “Well done, Commander Holt. Damage report?”

“ _Indomitable_ is down, sir.” The pilot grimaced at the obvious, then consulted her readouts, more information than would ordinarily be given to her screens scrolling by quickly. “AAL C-15 has minor hull damage, AAL C-31 took a hit to port engine and is dead in the water.”

The front two of the caravan took the most damage; it was to be expected. Hux nodded shortly,

“Leave C-31 for now. Bring C-15 parallel to B-12. Maintain 10 transports for _Tyrannic_ ; we'll make do with 19. Fall into theta-c configuration and proceed towards _Blackthorn_.”

The AALs shuffled awkwardly into a modified rectangle as TIEs began screaming past them, their escorts finally released from the _Finalizer_. They had a brief moment of respite while the destruction of the _Indomitable_ cleared their path to the _Blackthorn_ , and lowered the chances of the _Finalizer_ being pincered. The pilot rattled off, “Sir, squadron 10 is reporting for escort duty under your command, squadron 11 dealing with bogies, squadron 12 designated escort for the _Tyrannic_.”

“Excellent. Give me a line to squadron 10.”

The gunner scrambled at his console, clearly unfamiliar with the job of playing com officer, and Hux steeled himself against his annoyance. AALs rarely found themselves playing host to anything higher than the lieutenant behind him; sometimes, they were unfortunate enough to have Captain Phasma ride observer on their ops. They were never expected to operate as a general's command center.

“Line clear, sir.”

“Squadron 10. Your priority is to clear the way to _Blackthorn_ 's rear dorsal bay – blow the doors if necessary. Take out the turbolasers, turrets, and keep us clear of anything that gets past 11. _Quickly_. We have a limited window before beta group catches up. Move out!”

Before he could give the command, enemy TIEs were already beginning to peel through the debris cloud of the _Indomitable_ , laser fire flashing as the _Finalizer_ 's complement moved to engage. Hux watched the exchanges with an edge of tension and pride, seeing one of his own red-edged TIE/sf's strike through a bomber that moved too slowly. He hadn't gone into this fight intending to scuttle First Order ships, and yet, he couldn't find himself regretting it.

Whoever opposed him was his enemy.

Even with the loss of Starkiller aching behind his breastbone, Hux had his pride. He wasn't _less_ than some planet-bound, hopped up weapons manufacturer. Starkiller was multiple levels of magnitude beyond anything else the First Order had ever attempted. It was foolish ambition, really, that made Vyr Geraent think she somehow had the right to obstruct them like this.

And that she'd made it a _personal challenge_ for his right to alliance with Kylo Ren—

Hux only realized he'd slid into thought when the lieutenant intruded into his personal space and gestured pointedly towards the jumpseat behind the pilot. “General, sir. Please secure yourself, we're coming under fire.”

Hux reluctantly conceded the point and followed suit, realizing that the trooper himself had only been standing untethered out of concern. The other man made quick work of his own restraints in the one other jumpseat opposite; the AALs were cramped and hardly made for the accommodation of passengers. At least, no passengers other than the live cargo of two squads in the hold, and he would hardly call that comfortable.

Hux dug his nails into his palms surreptitiously, trying to drag his thoughts back to focus. The problem with allowing himself to be driven by fury when he was out of reserves was that when it flagged, so too did his concentration. Unacceptable.

The caravan of transports had made it past the debris field of the aft portion of the _Indomitable_ mostly intact, but the trade off was that the cover from the wreckage was limited as they closed in on the _Blackthorn_. Hux frowned at the approach, then called to the gunner, “Broadcast to attack group AALs: maintain tight formation until 5 klicks from _Blackthorn_ , then have the _Tyrannic_ group break off. _Tyrannic_ attack, follow your escort squadron in and take no unnecessary risks.”

He thought he heard the pilot mutter, “That's our job, ain't it?”

She wasn't _wrong._ The attack on the _Tyrannic_ , while he fully expected it to net positive results if only as a distraction, was more as a matter of reserve. The _Blackthorn_ was the lynch pin here, and he intended to remove it quickly.

They realized they were inside the _Blackthorn_ 's range by the expedient of the first AAL in formation taking fire and exploding, a silent thrum shaking their own transport. Hux snapped to the gunner, “ _Blackthorn_ attack group, shift to flat wedge, full speed. Sit rep!”

“Two transports down—not a pfassking thing we can do against cannons.”

Hux narrowed his eyes at the screen, tracking a TIE bomber and their wingman sliding into a strafing run on the _Blackthorn_. “That won't be a problem long. Continue advancing at maximum and all transports only take evasive measures as needed. Squadron 10, _we need that gap_.”

The longer and slower their approach, the more time their enemies would have to take them out. Unfortunately _Blackthorn_ had had the presence of mind to shut their bay blast doors; it'd take more than one bombing run to open the way. Hux forced himself to release his fists before his nails broke skin. Short of taking the helm in a TIE himself, there was nothing else he could be doing. This was why he preferred directing battles from the bridge; there, he controlled everything, and the loss of a single ship wasn't so damned viscerally important. Another AAL, this time two ships in formation to their left, went shearing by as it took fire.

The two bombers swept up and reversed direction neatly at the end of their run, diving back even lower close to the _Blackthorn_ 's skin on their return. Hux noted to inquire after their designations, as clearly _someone_ was well-motivated to get results.

“One- no, two cannons down!”

Hux raised an eyebrow as he watched the explosions continue to ripple, sending up a cloud of debris. In its wake, there was a not-insignificant rift in the _Blackthorn_ 's hull, adjacent to the blast doors of the bay rather than straight through them. A more inconvenient entrance, but a clever way around the defenses, he'd grant. “Excellent work, Squadron 10. Is that enough of a door?”

A voice crackled back across the coms, “Hang on, sir, let us roll out the welcome mat before you go making introductions.”

And, against all appearance of sanity, not one but _three_ TIEs proceeded to dive straight into the hull of the _Blackthorn_. Hux shook his head, amused in spite of himself that some things transcended rank and from what he recalled of certain interrogations, affiliation as well. “Are all fighter pilots that cocky?”

“Wouldn't know, sir, I drive a bus.” The pilot whistled as two TIEs erupted clear, one sparking from its right wing panel. The hole they'd left behind was clearly enlarged, the flight deck of the bay visible at an offset through it.

Hux forced himself to stay seated, calculations running in his mind. “Can we make it?”

The pilot glanced back at him once, vaguely incredulous, ignored her ashen gunner, and turned back to the instruments. “Probably, but we're gonna be losing paint.”

The lieutenant spoke up from his left, “We're not going to be able to get all the transports in that way. Not quickly.”

“Then we land the ones that matter and open the doors from the inside.” Hux skimmed the readouts with the remaining transports, frowning as he realized they'd lost one more and another was damaged in retreat. B-14 had the other special forces squadrons, and C-23 was currently piloted by one Shae Harund that Phasma had earmarked for promotion. It would have to do. “ _Blackthorn_ attack squad, AALs C-23, B-14 and B-12 will be going in, in that order. Remaining transports, hold position as close as possible to the _Blackthorn_ outside the perimeter of the bay. We may need to release the doors the hard way. Squadron 10, keep the air clear and _Blackthorn_ occupied.”

“Yes, sir!”

Hux deliberately eased back into his restraints, keeping his expression untroubled as the AAL kicked forward, the formation melting away around them. A quartet of TIEs flanked the trio of AALs as they swept in through the _Blackthorn_ 's weapon's range, one after another, with breathtakingly little space between them. And then the first AAL was shooting the gap before them, sparks visibly flying from where it just barely grazed the edges of the hull.

RD-8045 leaned around the bulkhead to project his voice out to the troopers, the clear bark of command, “Brace for impact!”

The second AAL made it through before them with slightly less grace, losing its gunner turret in a small explosion that rained debris off their forward shields. Hux did not dare blink as they followed with an almost audible inhalation from the collective cockpit. There was a distressing moment of black and a shudder before they were screaming through into the bright light and chaos of _Blackthorn_ 's launch bay.

The deceleration was harder than the transit, throwing him against the restraints as the pilot's quick hands brought them slewing around, facing inward in case they needed the cover fire for disembarking. Hux took in the devastation his TIEs had wrought on the bay and the warning lights flashing that struck an immediate and visceral fear in his gut. Depressurization alarms were the last thing any spacer ever wanted to encounter. “Bring us down perpendicular over the breach.”

The pilot didn't raise her eyes from the controls, but her voice clearly expressed her dismay, “Sir?”

Hux snapped, “Do it. Unless you can breathe vacuum?”

“Yes, sir!” The AAL jarred up against the jagged wall of the bay as they lowered, metal-on-metal screeching as they fell into place. It took a long, tense moment before the flashing red alarms of the bay subsided to amber.

Hux glanced at the gunner, “Com _Blackthorn_ attack squad: the door is closed.”

He could dimly hear the pilot swearing under her breath, her attention focused entirely on her instruments, “Need any other kriffing miracles today?”

He would ignore it, in favor of the performance; AALs weren't known for their agility and precision. He'd make a note in the pilot's file, for demonstrating superior skill and quick thinking. As soon as they settled, the lieutenant scrabbled out of his restraints and up to his feet; Hux took a moment longer to locate his own fasteners. The troopers were already passing emergency oxygen canisters down the line, snapping them into their masks's feed lines as they were designed to. Hux accepted the half-mask rebreather passed to him by the lieutenant, settling it into place with practiced ease from countless drills, then caught the trooper's gaze over it, “Secure the foothold.”

With a quick salute, the trooper took off, shooting down the aisle to the head of his squads as the pilot flashed the warning lights, her voice distorted by her own mask, “Prepare to disembark, venting atmo in three, two, one. . .”

The rush of air with the hatch's release was accompanied by the pounding feet of the troopers down the ramp, neat lines streaming out then bobbling around the wreckage strewn erratically across the bay floor. Hux followed at a remove, pausing at the bottom of the ramp to locate where the first AAL had set down against the far wall, and where the second, less talented pilot fetched up hard in the middle. The other AALs were likewise disgorging their cargo, the two squads of special forces on B-14 already securing the perimeter of the bay. With quick hand signals rather than words, half of the complement from Hux's AAL split off at a near-sprint, shaking the metal grating of the stairs leading up to the smoking ruins of the control room.

There was no immediate signs of enemy action; given the hull breach, Hux wasn't surprised. If anyone had survived the TIE fighter fire, the able-bodied would have evacuated and the injured would have been dealt with by asphyxiation soon enough. The ship's own emergency protocols would have isolated the sector in lockdown without any actions from Geraent at all.

Hux proceeded across the bay towards the shuttered main doors, the remaining squad of troopers shadowing him. Each step felt . . . odd and unbalanced, and it took Hux a moment to realize that this sector's gravity was likely off, either malfunctioning or deliberately disengaged. That would be hell to compensate for in combat.

After a quick glance around the exterior, Hux triggered his com, “C-23, B-12, have your gunners cover the main doors. If Geraent launches a counter-offensive, that will be the most likely source of ingress.”

Hux waited with ill grace for a report on the bay floor, occupying himself with checking the progress of the battle outside. The _Blackthorn_ was endeavoring to catch and hold the _Finalizer_ with her tractor beams, gravity well projectors trying to slow her progress, while the _Tyrannic_ found some plucky courage within its breast to come about and attempt to close in a belated pincer. The trio of chasing ships was still fighting through their smoke screen of TIEs, though it looked like one of the Maximilla-A's was limping, the _Iniquitous_ falling slowly behind. And yet the damned _Relentless_ was still coming.

Hux forced his fingers to unclench from the edge of his datapad as a white-armored trooper infringed on the edges of his vision. Even without the trooper helmet HUD's, Hux recognized RD-8045, as the lieutenant seemed to be designated his attendant for this mission. “Sitrep.”

RD-8045 saluted smartly, “Sir, the bay is clear. No hostiles remaining. The blast doors are secured against overrides. We have explosives experts with SF squad 03 preparing.”

“Good. First priority is gaining entry into the _Blackthorn_ as quickly as possible, then the bay doors.”

“Yes, sir.” RD-8045 paused to listen to an internal communication, then offered, “FN-4099 identified a maintenance door behind the aft TIE berths as the weakest point.”

Hux frowned, internally calculating; the maintenance corridors in an Immobilizer were narrow, at most two abreast. They'd make a potentially deadly bottleneck if Geraent had soldiers laying in wait for them. On the other hand, this was Geraent—and he was willing to lay bets her men would be on the other side of the main blast doors. Subtle, she was not. “Do it. Prepare SF squads 01 and 02 to move out through the opening immediately. SF squad 04 will remain with the two trooper squads here to protect the foothold while 03 holds the control room and opens the bay doors.”

“Yes, sir!”

Hux directed his attention past the lieutenant to his counterpart directing the squads from B-14. “CX-1109, establish cover and prepare for hostile counter-offensive, heavy fire. Main ingress points will be central and aft crew corridors on the deck level. And disable the internal sensors to this section if at all possible; I don't want them to know where or when we're coming through.”

If he were Geraent, he would have been lining up men at each and every entrance, either waiting behind a booby-trapped bomb or with some significant infantry artillery pointed their way waiting for it to crack open. If he had limited numbers, then they would enter through the control room level, take the high ground and sweep down. However, Geraent did not think laterally, had a fraction of his complement of troopers, and, Hux recalled with a quirk of his lips, she would entirely disapprove of his notion to use the service corridors for stealth.

She'd like what he planned to do after that even less.

“We have a very short window before they react. Move out!”

White armor scrambled in all directions, RD-8045 gave a credible double-take as he realized Hux was at his heels, following his lead towards their exit. “General—“

It had to be setting the trooper's teeth on edge, but Hux smiled grimly, “I'm here for a reason, and I am _not_ waiting in the rear.”

The Lieutenant hesitated, almost visibly steeling himself, then gestured sharply at the special forces troopers under his command. “Sir, we go where you go, and we go in there first.”

“Then you had better go quickly. We're taking the bridge.”

Hux fell in with the 01 squad as they lined up, close enough to the Lieutenant's elbow to hear him swear quietly, “Sith hells—sir, you're not armored.”

“I'm armed.” Hux quirked a smirk as he smoothed out the lines of his greatcoat. “And don't underestimate the power of appearances. It will serve admirably.”

No, he needed to catch Geraent off-guard. For her crew to realize exactly who she was dealing with, the full weight of his station, when he bore down on her. For once, he had a shred of sympathy for Ren's sweeping theatrical garb; the mask, though patently ridiculous outside of battle, had its uses for intimidation.

Hux shook himself clear of the clinging thoughts as an unfamiliar voice called, “Range clear. Detonation in three . . . two. . . one.”

A dull whumph announced the success. RD-8045 snapped a hand forward, sending two troopers ahead through the newly-opened door. “Clear!”

Squad 01 led the way, Hux folded into the middle of their formation, then 02 brought up the rear. They were halfway down the first leg of the corridor when they heard a ruckus behind them, the deep roar of the rolling blast doors releasing immediately followed by heavy artillery fire. Hux triggered his com, “03, close the door behind us and take care of that mess.”

“Roger that, sir. Good hunting.”

The service corridors were claustrophobic at best, labyrinthine at worst. Hux hauled off the stifling rebreather once they cleared another set of doors, letting it hang at his chest. The troopers set a blistering pace despite their elbows brushing the walls, fast enough that Hux was quietly grateful he wasn't likewise armored. And regretfully penciled in time for Phasma to make him serve his penance on the mats and the obstacle course.

When this was over.

Assuming he survived.

One step at a time. Hux's pace slowed as his com chirped, Datto's voice ringing clear, “General, the _Blackthorn_ is holding the _Finalizer_ steady. _Relentless_ is closing fast.”

The “If you're going to act, act now.” didn't need to be spoken.

Hux did not let the swears he was thinking cross his lips. He skidded to a stop at an intersection, squad 02 piling up behind him. “We don't have time for this. 02, go take engineering. Secure it if you can, sabotage it if you can't. We need those gravity well projectors off-line!”

“Yes, sir!”

He could practically feel the weight of RD-8045's concerned misgivings. He'd teased Phasma for brooding her troopers before; some of her officers must have inherited the instincts. “Not a word out of you, Lieutenant. Double time!”

At least he obeyed. They moved.

Clambering between floors was the worst; they had to traverse two thirds of the ship lengthwise and some five levels up before they reached the bridge deck. If the _Blackthorn_ was the size of the _Finalizer_ , they never would have made it in time to be of any use. As it was, Hux begrudged the minutes passing by, and that he had to hold up the squad for a moment to catch his breath and straighten himself before they exited the corridors. The lieutenant let Hux bull his way to the fore, tilting his head in deference, “What next, sir?”

“Now, Lieutenant, we walk.” Hux breathed deeply, cranked the service door open, and brazenly strolled out past their scouts into the lead. The squad was too well-trained to miss a beat, forming up parade-ground perfect behind him as he advanced them the remaining twenty meters to the bridge. Geraent, the fool, hadn't closed the bridge off, hadn't an inkling of how far they had penetrated her ship. Perhaps she thought the entirety of the boarding party was held at the bay, or—he overheard reports of blaster fire in engineering—that they had focused on the gravity well projectors.

Hux found he couldn't completely quell the tiny, fierce smirk quirking his lips. He never could suffer fools gladly.

It was a junior com officer who spotted them first, glancing up then freezing in place as Hux breezed past their station. The first half of the squad flanked Hux as an honor guard while the second half fanned out inside the door, triggering the blast shields closed behind them. Geraent turned at the sound, half-rising from her throne-like captain's chair, and going first white, then red as she registered who stood in front of her. Apoplexy was not flattering to her. Hux smiled, his voice cold and cordial, “General Geraent. Your hospitality has been sorely lacking.”

She refused to stand, only shifting as if she could stare down the man who stood a head higher than her on even footing. “General Hux. What is the meaning of this?”

“I think that should be obvious.” Hux advanced, trusting the troopers to watch his back as he closed to within five meters of Geraent before he paused, deliberately turning his attention away from her to the holoprojector recording the status of the fight. Ah, the _Iniquitous_ had fallen behind completely, and the _Penalizer_ looked to be taking a beating as it bore the brunt of Hux's TIEs falling upon it. He was aware of Geraent gawking at him out of the corner of his eye, as if trying to put Hux's presence here and the _Finalizer_ into perspective.

She must have recovered herself, as her next words came through slathered in venom honey, “General Hux, abandoning his bridge during battle. I never thought I'd see the day. . . oh, but that's twice now, isn't it?”

Hux half-turned to smile over his shoulder at her, completely unruffled. No, seething rage was doing an excellent job of deflecting that barb from his recently injured pride. “You're right. I evacuated Starkiller, under the Supreme Leader's orders. Just as I ordered Commander Holt to continue in my stead so I could take care of this . . . unpleasant business between us.”

Geraent licked her painted lips, a gesture that was likely intended to be enticing but reminded Hux only so much of a Hutt about to consume its meal. “Why, Hux, are you taking this _personally_?”

Hux let his hands fall from their parade rest clasp at his back to his sides, shrugging easily, “You offered the chance to surrender, _personally_. I thought it only fair to return the courtesy.”

Geraent laughed, “Surrender meekly, to your control?” She gestured mockingly at her throat, indicating the damning bruises that must be clearly visible ringing his own. “Boy, you can't control your _Knight_. You're not fit for command. Step down and hand him over.”

Hux had thought his rage burned before; now it ignited in a magnesium-white flare. That was the only explanation he had for his following words. He met Geraent's reptile stare and smirk with one of his own, steady and cold. “I think you misunderstand the nature of our . . . agreement.”

Hux let his left hand rise to his neck in a casual caress, the cuffs of his sleeves riding up to expose the edges of the mottling on his wrists. “There's no limits to what you can do with a _cooperative_ Force-user.”

Geraent gaped. Then began to sputter, “I never—”

Hux shot before she could finish the sentence.

Lowering the blaster in his right hand, Hux stared at her smoking corpse. This close, he hardly could have missed. “No, you wouldn't understand.”

She never did learn to value anyone but herself. She could hardly understand _loyalty_.

Hux knew where his allegiances lied. And anyone else who thought they could lay their manipulative hands on Kylo Ren would have to learn the same lesson.

Hux looked up to address the rest of the bridge, “General Geraent is dead. I am the ranking officer on the field. If you are loyal to the First Order, you will obey the Supreme Leader and cease hostilities at once.”

“You dare—” Hux turned and shot down an older woman in the uniform of a commander; Geraent's second in command, most likely.

He caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye and a blaster bolt hit what must have been a particularly ambitious lieutenant, whose sidearm skittered across the deck from his dead fingers. RD-8045 kept his rifle raised, in the easy stance of someone who could keep this up all day. Hux inclined his head in acknowledgment, then queried blandly, “Any other dissenters?”

There were surprisingly few objections, after that.

Hux nodded once, sharply, then holstered his blaster. “Broadcast on PA that all crew are to cease hostilities. Release the _Finalizer_ and move to close with the _Tyrannic_. Squad 02 will continue to supervise Engineering. Boarding party, status?”

Lieutenant CX-1109 answered the coms, “Squad 03 and 04 holding steady. Ten additional AALs just landed, sir. Getting a bit crowded down here, but friendly.”

“Send two squads to spell 01 at the bridge and another to engineering. The crew has found themselves in need of . . . guidance. With the rest, begin securing the ship deck by deck. I want any functioning weapons stations manned by our people. It may still make a difference.”

“Yes, sir!”

RD-8045 closed to Hux's elbow, prompting quietly, “Somewhere else we need to be, sir?”

Hux watched the holoprojector of the _Relentless_ closing in on the cluster of the _Finalizer_ , _Blackthorn_ and _Tyrannic_. “We're going wherever Tamat Ren is.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for the comments and enduring my glacial pace of updates! Bear with me, we've got to get through the crisis with Hux before Ren gets his turn. Let the man have his rest! I initially thought the space ship battle would be part two out of four total. Instead, it is parts two through four. . . out of at least five. *facepalm* This is what happens when you let me loose on battle tactics!
> 
> Shout out to iblicron and the Pew-Pew anon for leaving comments on the Tumblr sneak previews! :D Seriously, your comments mean a lot, especially when they are the one voice in the dark.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hux goes for two points (and then three, because he is a compulsive over-achiever), the stormtroopers are not paid enough for this, and no one ever said this was going to be easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a long weekend for the Fourth of July, so hello, early update! I, uh, took the scenic route again, so this is longer than expected without reaching the destination I'd hoped for. Either the next chapter is going to be equally long or I'll go to six parts; we'll see what happens! Thank you for sticking with me through the action sequence!

The bridge of the _Blackthorn_ was surprisingly hospitable with three corpses on the deck and a squadron of Special Forces troopers at his back, Hux mused. He always did prefer negotiating from a position of power. Especially when his enemies underestimated him.

Geraent was a fool, and a fool to be distracted by such petty salacious details as she peddled in to swell her own ego. Had been. Hux stepped past her cooling corpse to flag the attention of the com officer, “Query all ships: what is the current location of Tamat Ren?”

One of the Blackthorn's own officers, whose uniform and rank canisters denoted a sergeant, hesitantly answered, “Lady Ren was stationed on board the _Relentless_. She took their Lambda shuttle to close with the _Finalizer_.”

“And that shuttle?”

Phasma's own familiar voice echoed over the coms, “Sir. We have eyes on the Lambda shuttle; it's returning to the _Relentless_. It reversed course when the _Blackthorn_ was taken.”

Of course – she would have made her approach vector to the _Finalizer_ take advantage of the cover of the larger Immobilizer. When the _Blackthorn_ changed hands, she risked her shuttle being caught between the star destroyer and the cruiser. As it was, _Tyrranic_ wasn't much liking its current position even on the outside; its crew was attempting to scrabble away from the _Finalizer_ and making no headway against the hold of the subverted _Blackthorn_.

Hux gave them five, perhaps ten minutes at best before they capitulated. This was just the death throes of the headless snake. No, the only other concern on the field was attempting to regroup. “Captain Phasma, what is your current status?”

“16 AALs with all 32 squads aboard successfully landed on the _Relentless_ and holding the fore launch bay, sir.”

There was something about her tone, even filtered twice through Phasma's helmet and com, that Hux frowned. “Something's wrong, Captain?”

“It was too easy, sir. They let us board.” He could hear the sourness clearly now, “And now they're letting Tamat Ren through to the aft bay."

A trap, then. With the _Relentless_ 's crew of troopers before them, and their own Knight of Ren coming to bolster the rear. It would take the Knight time to land, then moving through her own corridors, it would be minutes at best before she would descend upon the troopers with her halberd like a scythe through wheat. “Use your heavy weapons forces wisely, Captain. Do not let her engage the troops directly; dispatch what forces you can to the fore of the ship to secure your foothold and retreat. Keep the door open.”

“Yes, sir.” Phasma never sounded resigned, merely annoyed that he'd stated the obvious.

Satisfied Phasma would hold come hell or high water, Hux turned his focus back to the bridge staff, skimming the deck for the flight control officer, “What ships do you have still in dock?”

The man, thin and mousy-haired, quailed nervously under Hux's attention before answering in a nasal voice, “All TIEs are deployed, sir. Your . . . your transports hold the dorsal bay.”

“And the bow bay?” Hux prompted, annoyance lending a sharp edge to his words. Between the crowd of transports and the dodgily patched hull breech, there would be no launching in a hurry from their position. And AALs were easily the slowest small transports the First Order used outside of cargo haulers.

The flight control officer visibly flinched, hesitant. “Only General Geraent's personal shuttle, sir.”

Hux raised an eyebrow, “She's in no position to mind us using it, now is she?” He directed the lieutenant, “Have Pilot Harund and a squadron of SF troopers meet us at the fore launch bay.”

“Yes, sir.” A low metal noise interrupted them, a curious pattern, and before Hux could inquire, RD-8045 provided, “That would be our relief, sir.”

Armored trooper knuckles knocking, Hux realized as the blast doors rolled open to reveal a full squad of special forces troopers, backed with a full second of regular troopers, arrayed parade-ground perfect. CX-1109 saluted, not quite insouciant. “Squad SF 03 and squad 89 reporting for relief, sir.”

“Lieutenant CX-1109, you have the bridge.” Hux smirked at the trooper's momentary hesitation at the threshold; it wasn't like troopers were ever expected to end up with full control over cruisers. But he knew his troopers, and more over, he knew Phasma's special forces. They would hold. “Your orders are simple. Continue to hold out, use the gravity well projectors to keep the _Tyrranic_ in lockdown until it surrenders. If any enemy ships enter range, take them out. Support the _Finalizer_ if the _Relentless_ closes.”

“Simple enough, sir.” The second lieutenant might have been wry, but the vocoder was good for covering that sort of nuance. He stepped through to take the lead, three long strides eating up the deck. “I have the bridge.”

Hux merely acknowledged it with a tilt of his head, then headed to pass him, one trooper squad flowing in neatly as they streamed out. Hux was close enough to hear the low exchange as the lieutenants passed each other, a firm nod visible from one helmet to the other. CX-1109 made a flip wave, “Strafe.”

“Caskets,” RD-8045 returned, polite.

And then they were off, quick steps bringing them down the corridor to the lifts. With no one to oppose them, they made good time. Hux raised an eyebrow at the trooper flanking him, “Strafe?”

“Reference to my specialty, sir.” RD-8045 shrugged the shoulder holding the specialized sniper rifle hanging low on his back. The only reason it didn't look ridiculously out-sized was that it matched the trooper's own proportions, long and lean.

Hux waited until they'd filed into the lift, tight quarters with the entire armored squad, before he glanced side-long. “Then Caskets. . .?”

RD-8045 made a noise that might have been a strangled laugh. “ _His_ specialty, General. Close quarter combat. That bridge crew won't be a problem, sir.”

Hux did not let his eyebrows raise with an effort. “Duly noted, Lieutenant.”

They did not quite run the halls, but the double-time march was close enough that Hux was impressed their support beat them to the launch bay. The black-suited pilot and two rows of troopers waited for them outside a silver-edged Lambda-class shuttle. Hux hated to think what garish custom modifications had been made to the thing. So long as its engines were to spec or better, he would endure.

Their pilot was suspiciously winded and Hux suspected his dark skin hid a flush, but he still sounded cheerfully game as he stepped forward, saluting, “Shae Harund, reporting for duty, General.”

Hux acknowledged the salute with a tilt of his head, “Your promptness is commendable, Pilot Harund. Take the helm and prepare for immediate departure.”

The young man jogged into the shuttle with barely a “Yes, sir!” and really, Hux couldn't blame him. Even a Lambda was an exciting prospect compared to an AAL. He must not realize he was on the shortlist for the TIE pilot qualifications.

As for the rest, Hux realized he had effectively three squads of troopers where even two were going to be a tight fit. At a quick glance, one was regular troopers, the other squad 04 newly released from their duty guarding the foothold. The regulars may have optimistically been hoping to switch in. “SF squads 01 and 04, with me. Squad 85, remain on _Blackthorn_ for support.”

“Yes, sir!” The two lines split neatly, one curling up the gangway while the other went smartly to get out of range of the engine wash.

The stormtrooper sergeant offered a quick salute and nod to Hux and RD-8045 as she passed, commenting wryly, “Some squads have all the fun.”

“You don't want our kind of luck today,” RD-8045 replied low.

Hux pretended not to notice, leading their column into the waiting shuttle. He was right to have been apprehensive; the interior had been heavily remodelled, the dozen plush passenger seats a garish wine red velvet that the waiting stormtroopers looked distinctly incongruous against. Hux bypassed the spectacle with barely a grimace, heading instead to the cockpit which at least looked rather more familiar. Evidently Geraent hadn't been concerned with the comfort and style of the pilots seeing her to her destinations.

Squad 04's leader, Second Lieutenant LC-2133 waited there for them, the pilot Harund already at work moving through the pre-flight checks. RD-8045 immediately addressed his counterpart, “What did you find for me?”

LC-2133 nodded to a black bundle on one of the rear auxiliary station seats, “Short notice on the fly, but I grabbed a flight suit on our way through the fighter bays. What's going on?”

“Any armor is better than no armor.” RD-8045 looked pointedly at the cockpit hatch, “If you could handle the briefing and send my second forward. . .”

LC-2133 nodded, unphased, “Will do.”

RD-8045 triggered the cockpit closed after his subordinate entered, immediately pulling off his helmet. “Fifty-five, I'll need a hand. We don't have time to do this properly.”

Even as he stared, Hux wondered if the lieutenant came from the same creche stock as Phasma; they were both pale, washed out specimens, and nearly of a height, except RD-8045 had hazel eyes and hollowed cheeks. “What do you think you're doing, Lieutenant?”

Even without the helmet, the lieutenant was good at keeping a blank face, only the tightness around his eyes and thin lips revealing his stress. Unlike some, Phasma's troopers were professionals, after all. RD-8045 went on stripping off his right gauntlet. “We have about five minutes before we board a hostile ship with a Knight of Ren on it. You're not walking into this one unarmored, sir.”

Hux frowned, non-plussed, even as he reluctantly shifted off his greatcoat. “Ah. Phasma's orders.”

“All due respect, sir, disobeying orders from Captain Phasma is one thing. She'd just have me reconditioned and reassigned.” The lieutenant didn't pause in stripping gear, methodically removing pauldrons before the bracers and the chestplate, beat by beat by beat. “Having Kylo Ren come after me? I'd rather take my chances running naked through a firefight."

“I'd prefer you don't,” Hux replied dryly, but he couldn't argue with the logic. Yes. There was that. The entire squad had been there on the bridge to witness his . . . deflection of Geraent's attention. And the implications thereof.

And there was no denying the bruises left from Force-choking that were entirely too visible as he stripped off his officer's tunic. Both the truth and the lie reflected badly: either he lost control of Kylo Ren and enraged the Knight to the point Ren strangled him, or he had . . . questionable tastes and dangerous pastimes.

He could do worse than Kylo Ren, he supposed, even in rumor.

Hux realized belatedly he was standing there, useless and lost in thought, with his tunic in his hands as the deck shifted underfoot. Harund was wisely keeping his head down, focusing on the controls and instrument panels as he likely had to be for take off without a co-pilot available.

RD-8045 traded a look with his still-helmeted subordinate, squaring his narrow shoulders to face Hux straight on. “Sir. There won't be any gossip started in the ranks from us. I guarantee that.”

Hux met his gaze, reading nothing but serious dedication. Phasma had found a suitable protege in the ranks, he realized. “Not from you. Your men?”

A grim smile quirked his lips briefly. “They know they can't run fast enough. No, there won't be anything, General.”

Hux let it fall silent at that, nodding once. He turned his attention forward to the portals as Harund finally spoke up, “Prepared for departure, General. Where to, sir?”

“Rendezvous with the boarders on the _Relentless,_ full speed as best we can under the circumstances. Task all available TIE fighter from squadrons 10 and 11 with interference.”

“Yes, sir.” Harund paused, flicking through calculations, “ETA four minutes to intercept.”

Hux nodded and turned his attention back to the stormtroopers, with RD-8045 already waiting half-armored. “All right, you heard our timeline. What do you have in mind, Lieutenant?”

While the end result wouldn't have passed inspection, it would have to do. Even with the two troopers all but dressing him, it was impossible to switch out more than the upper body armor in the time they had. He was lucky the Lieutenant was a close enough fit that the armor suited; RD-8045 hadn't proven as lucky with his replacement gear, as Fifty-five had merely held up the over-sized flightsuit and convulsed with helpless laughter. The lieutenant had sighed at his subordinate, shook his head and only took the pilot's black flight jacket over the grey tank he'd been left with.

By the time Hux shrugged back into his greatcoat, the shoulders catching awkwardly on the armor beneath, they were closing in on the _Relentless_ and the shuttle shook with incoming fire. Hux unceremoniously dropped himself into the co-pilot seat, taking a moment to read the boards. “Status?”

“Hairy, sir.” Harund flinched as incoming blaster fire dissipated on their fore shields, “We've got a lot of company. The TIEs have been clearing the enemy fighters, except now we're getting the _Relentless'_ s attention.”

Behind him, he heard RD-8045 take a seat, “Fifty-five, take ops. I have gunner.”

Between them, they probably made a marginally competent staff, Hux supposed. Better than this ship was used to. “Bring us in as fast as you can, Harund. Phasma, sit rep?”

“Busy, sir.” Phasma was actually panting, a growl in her voice. “This— kriffing Knights.”

“I take it you've made contact with the enemy,” Hux commented dryly.

A grunt, the sound of a vibroblade humming and beating heavily against something that sounded suspiciously like a plasma blade. “Lost two squads so far. Met her in the corridors.”

Trying to catch and hold the Knight where Tamat Ren's halberd would be at a disadvantage. He expected no less of Phasma. That Tamat Ren had chewed through two squads before Phasma could catch her, however. . . And there was another risk. Hux absently flipped through the controls, diverting power from the engines to the shields to weather a canon blast they simply could not dodge. “Can you take her?”

“If I can get both heavy squads on her. . . maybe.”

It went without saying that if they had the space for two squads to converge on her, the Knight would be out of the corridors and once more have the advantage. And if they were to succeed, the price to pay. . . Hux ran through the options and came to a single, inevitable conclusion. “Captain, fall back to the bay and wait for support.”

Phasma blocked another heavy hit, the disbelief clear in her voice, “General?”

Hux smiled grimly, “That's an order. Fall back to the bay, use all available resources, and _hold her there_.”

Comprehension took hold with an almost audible click. “Yes, sir.”

Hux reversed his previous adjustment and pulled from the shields to push the engines. They had to be close enough; the _Relentless_ 's bulk loomed large and imposing, blocking all view of the rest of the battlefield. “Harund, get us in there. Quickly. And then I hope you have a steady hand.”

Hux rose from his seat abruptly, pushing past RD-8045 as he made to follow. “I'm going to be borrowing your rifle, Lieutenant.”

“Sir?!”

Hux suited action to words, picking up the Lieutenant's rifle from where he'd had to set it aside to take gunner. A DC-15x; an older model than most First Order issue, but a solid make that still saw service with good reason. It'd been well maintained, not that Hux expected less. Six shots between reloading; he would have to make them count.

RD-8045 stood and caught him before he could open the cockpit door, unease written in every line of his face. The “That's my job” wasn't spoken and it didn't need to be. Hux leveled a flat stare over the stock of the rifle. He didn't have the time for this. “Lieutenant. I don't doubt your capability. However, this is my _responsibility_ , and mine alone.”

“Sir.” RD-8045 subsided unhappily as Hux triggered the door, startling half the troopers in the passenger compartment. Hux nodded absently to them as he stepped on to the hatch that was the entry ramp, orienting himself properly. Fortunately, Lambda shuttles entry ramps also opened forwards. “Lieutenant, you have gunner. Keep us clear and watch our flank.”

“Yes, sir.” The lieutenant ducked back into the cockpit with a hangdog air that made Hux almost want to feel guilty. He pushed it from his mind as irrelevant as he dropped first to his knees, then prone, elbows braced on the deck grating. The rifle snugged into his shoulder with the ease of old familiarity, even the way the armor dug into his joints brought back memories of cold, damp training fields.

Hux bit the inside of his lip to focus, pulling himself back to the present. “Harund, as soon as we're through the bay shield, open the entry ramp to 20 degrees, and hold bearing.”

He pressed on without acknowledging the pilot's startled agreement, “Phasma, target location.”

“Bay. Roughly. . . twenty five meters fore from aft entry. Ten meters from port wall.”

Hux ran the numbers and tried not to curse. Not even a third of the way across the bay and the shuttle had to be coming in at an angle from the fore. “I need you to make that fourty-five meters.”

“Kriff.” Phasma panted, voice tight, “Acknowledged.”

“Twenty seconds to bay air shield!” Fifty-five called back.

Hux counted the seconds and tried to level his breathing, forcing himself to slow. He didn't speak as Fifty-five counted them in, and then the ramp shifted, both sliding Hux down headfirst and buffeting him with wind that stung his eyes. He blinked rapidly, feeling an almost nostalgic clarity pushing everything else into the distance as he focused down the scope.

“Phasma.”

“Thirty-five. No. Fourty meters.” His normally impervious Captain sounded stressed, even beyond winded. Distantly he wondered if she'd taken a hit, but he couldn't think about that. Nothing but the crosshairs and the profusion of white armor, the destruction thrown wide around – there. Shining chromium against black. Tamat Ren's armor and cloaks weren't as ragged as Kylo's; either it was an affectation for carelessness of their leader that the others didn't follow, or Tamat Ren just had more of a taste for luxury, like her former General counterpart.

Phasma must have picked up a heavy weapon from one of her specialty troopers: a vibrosaw that she wielded two handed as she batted back sweeping strikes from the Knight of Ren. She spared herself from being stabbed by the unstoppable plasma blade by virtue of keeping too close for the Knight to thrust, keeping up a heavy battery of her own.

The range was long, but closing fast. The problem was— “Phasma, I need you to rotate. Bring her about at least thirty degrees.”

“Don't ask much, do you.”

Hux smiled into the scope, the old joke falling from his lips automatically, “Just perfection.”

Still, Phasma fought to clear his line of fire, limping back heavily as if retreating. He couldn't tell how much was feint and how much was real injury. The ship trembled, throwing his aim wildly, and Hux barked, “ _Keep steady_ , damn you!”

Tamat Ren went for an overhead strike, the blade of the halberd blazing towards Phasma's helmet. Greatly daring, Phasma dropped her bloody weapon and _caught the staff_.

Hux breathed out.

And fired.

One blue bolt of searing fire after another.

It was automatic; once, minor correction, twice, adjust as the body fell, three times.

Hux blinked and pulled himself back from the rifle, hiding a wince as he came up to one knee on the ramp. That used to be easier. “Bring us down!”

Before the ramp was fully extended to touch the deck, Hux dropped clear, rifle still at the ready in his hands as he stalked over to where white-clad soldiers knotted around silver. Phasma held the light halberd, blade still ignited, and nodded to him as he approached.

Rather than say anything, Hux first addressed the fallen black Knight, kicking back the hood with one booted toe to reveal the cracked mess of helmet. It looked like he'd landed two headshots, then one to the torso. Shame, that was supposed to be one to the head and two to the center of mass, but he'd take it.

Tamat Ren made a surprisingly small mess; as slight as her leader was broad. The skin revealed through the wrecked armor was red and orange-striped; not human, though what descent, Hux couldn't say. No matter what she was, nothing was getting up from that level of skull damage. Hux relaxed and stood back, nodding to Phasma. “Captain.”

Phasma stepped in, swinging the halberd down in a viciously accurate strike that separated the corpse's head from the body. Hux couldn't avoid flinching at the motion, staring at Phasma as she calmly depressed a button on the halberd's staff, light blade vanishing with a soft hum. “Sith, sir. If you'd spent the last twenty minutes toying with her, you'd agree. Best to make sure.”

Hux raised an eyebrow but nodded, “I respect your judgment, Captain.”

For a moment, they merely stood and considered each other; Hux taking in the sear marks on Phasma anywhere the armor didn't cover. Ah. The chromium. The armor must have deflected the worst of the plasma damage; she would only have been vulnerable at the joints. And with a halberd, trying to strike such small points of vulnerability—no wonder Phasma had been able to hold. Phasma likewise was taking in the picture Hux must have made; mussed hair, unshaven, greatcoat over half a trooper's armor, sniper rifle in hand.

No posters today for either of them, he thought. “Excellent job positioning, Captain.”

He could hear the smirk in her voice as she replied, “Good shooting, General.”

Hux sighed, pushing hair back out of his face, “Someone patch me into the PA and let's end this nonsense."

It took a minute for the two squadrons on the shuttle to catch up to him, RD-8045 securing himself to Hux's left flank the way Phasma did to his right, reclaiming his rifle to reload it with an aggrieved air. Hux let him have it, busying himself with checking the status of the battlefield as a whole until a coms officer worked their magic and he had his line to the shipwide PA on the _Relentless_.

He waited for her nod, then began to speak, staring straight into the holovid lens unblinking. “This is General Hux of the _Finalizer_. General Geraent and Knight Tamat Ren are dead, for the crime of treason defying the Supreme Leader's orders.”

He waited a beat for that to sink in, then continued, “You may not have been aware that was the case, but this unwarranted ambush is obstructing the return of the Master of the Knights of Ren to Snoke's side. I will not tolerate attacks upon myself or any of the one hundred and forty-five thousand aboard the _Finalizer_ , and yes, Lord Kylo Ren is among them.

“The _Blackthorn_ and _Tyrranic_ are already under my control. The _Indomitable_ is scuttled. Surrender immediately, and I will see that only those parties responsible for this insurrection are punished. We are all part of the First Order, and this infighting is both wasteful and disgraceful. In the wake of Starkiller, we must act to bolster our ranks, not splinter into petty factions.”

Hux took a breath, setting his jaw with grim certainty and tightening the grip he held on his opposite wrist behind his back. “Make no mistake that I am merciful. Continue fighting, and I will destroy you to a man."

At last, he stepped back, ceding the floor to Phasma. She raised her head pointedly, shoulders back in perfect form. "All crew and complement, you have two minutes to disarm and surrender. Power down all weapons systems and return all surviving TIEs to base."

Hux cut the holovid with a single nod to the coms officer. “Transmit to all units: two minutes ceasefire on the _Relentless_ itself unless fired upon; continue engagements on all other parties until hostilities cease. We are prepared to give quarter.”

The bay went suspiciously silent in the wake of their announcement, the only noise the squadrons of troopers regrouping as best they were able. Even without a full account of the casualties, Hux could see smoking AALs and dozens of strewn corpses in both stormtrooper white and officer grey that weren't moving. First Order on First Order, the only inexpert way of determining which were his and which were the enemy was the method of death, blaster versus light halberd. Wounds from plasma blades did not bleed, but they killed with an efficiency Hux could almost admire.

An efficiency entirely dependent on the Knight of Ren wielding it.

Having a Knight of Ren attached to one's command was like being gifted a particularly rabid, vicious vornskr. If trained and controlled, they made a weapon that scythed through ordinary troops with ease. If feral and unrestrained, they were as likely to bite the hand that fed them as obey a single order.

There were cautionary stories, of Knights killing their Generals. Twice in the past decade or so of their existence, perhaps more, if certain ambiguous ends were attributed to them. Enough to keep those who would be ambitious on their toes, to make the addition of a Knight to one's retinue both an honor and a warning. The greatest of the Knights of Ren was thus the sharpest double-edged sword.

And no Knight before or since had been like Kylo Ren, who vacillated between useful and self-destructive, depending on whether the rage that drove him could be pointed in the correct direction.

If this had been Kylo Ren they had gone to subdue, even a sniper's bolts wouldn't have put him down. Hux would have had to fall back to the shuttle's cannons, and count the deaths of the troopers surrounding him as acceptable collateral for the payoff. An entirely unpleasant accounting.

Hux came back to himself as Phasma shifted to a formal salute, rapping the hilt of the halberd she still held against the deck with a solid blow that resounded through the bay with shocking finality. “Two minutes elapsed, sir. No orders issued from the bridge.”

And he'd been woolgathering that long. Kriff, he needed sleep.

Instead, he braced himself to begin moving again, glancing over the now neatly-arrayed lines of the surviving forces. They still had sufficient numbers and now, with half the ships turned, the General and Knight fallen, their victory had the sense of the inevitable. Slow but certain, they would wash over the _Relentless_ like a wave. “No formal response from the _Relentless_. We press forward, deck by deck. Be prepared to face both resisting and surrendering crew.”

He could acknowledge a certain sort of grim canniness in the _Relentless_ 's commander refusing to speak. Without orders, the individual sections would have to decide for themselves, dependent on their own circumstances. Each faction that surrendered was no longer loyal to Geraent's command, therefore no longer part of their concern, and each prisoner was a drain on Hux's forces. Securing, holding, guarding— it took more troopers to handle a surrender than a rout. There was a reason the First Order often wiped out losing forces completely: efficiency, and insufficient resources to hold what they defeated.

They were gambling on his offer of mercy. Hux resisted the urge to snarl. That, that was a poor bet.

Hux glanced to his side, finding exactly who he expected. “Captain Phasma. You will remain with your troops to coordinate the seizure of the _Relentless_ as you see fit. I will take SF squads 01 and 04 with me directly to the bridge.”

Phasma tilted her head, the query almost audible. Hux paused as he passed her, murmuring low, “Someone up there intends to slow us down. They think they still have a chance. And I want to know why.”

 

The corridors leading to the bay had already been secured by Phasma's advanced forces; the _Relentless_ 's crew had fallen back to what they must have deemed a safe distance when Lady Ren had taken the field. Having seen the way the Knights worked, Hux found that wise. It had taken months for Kylo Ren to wrap his head around the idea that stormtroopers were not entirely disposable, not renewable resources, and could be legitimately useful. And that “They were standing in my backswing!” was not an acceptable excuse.

Which reminded him. As they moved, Hux asked RD-8045, “What were the casualties?”

The lieutenant spared him a quick glance, no doubt surprised he hadn't heard the figures already while they waited. “Sir, out of 402 that boarded, there's an estimated sixty killed in action. Twenty-eight wounded.”

Hux nodded absently. With the walking wounded and three squads to hold the bay as their base of operations, Phasma still had nearly three hundred troopers to take the ship. Hux's group of twenty-five was merely a small percentage bonus to the numbers. However, as a focused force of twenty-five special forces trained troopers, they made a formidable spearhead.

Hux directed the two squadrons towards the mid-ship lifts, outside the periphery of their controlled region. They turned a corner and surprised a half dozen from the _Relentless_ , low-ranking crew in the plain uniforms of technicians, carrying their emergency response kits en route to some engineering problem. As one, the group froze, visibly taking in the firepower arrayed at them before Hux stepped aside to have a clear view. One at the rear stepped backwards in recognition, thinking of running, when the wiser head beside him prevailed and seized his elbow. One of the older, a woman with shrewd eyes, raised her hands first. “We surrender, General.”

Hux relaxed slightly, a quick gesture telling his troopers to stand down. “Immediate surrender earns you quarter. Good. There will be more than enough repairs needed after this is over. Wait here for an escort, then report to the fore cargo bay to serve at Phasma's direction.”

The woman nodded, ignoring the sullen resentment from her comrades. “Yes, sir.” She tugged the crew nearest her to follow her example, sitting at the side of the corridor with her hands folded on her head.

RD-8045 called in for the escort, and they began to move on before they could even hear footfalls in the distance. He thought he heard muttering in their wake, “Rather serve under him? Hux's crazy.”

“Rather live to serve _._ ”

They reached the lifts without further incident; Hux frowned as he immediately observed the strategic problem; the CC 2020 _Interdictor_ -class cruiser's lifts weren't meant for holding more than one squad at a time. There simply wasn't enough crew aboard to justify the scale. The lieutenant caught his expression and returned it with an equally mulish look, “Sir, it's a potential bottleneck. There may be resistance. We can't allow you to go first.”

He did expect initiative and forethought from his subordinates, and this was what it earned him. Hux acquiesced with as much good humor as he could manage, “Squad 04, proceed to the bridge level and hold, then return the lift to our position.”

“Yes, sir!”

RD-8045 waited at his shoulder as the other squad piled into the lift, even that proving a tight fit. They immediately staggered their ranks, half falling to one knee, and each taking a guarded position with blasters at the ready pointing outward of both sets of doors. With a single salute from their corporal, the lift doors closed and they ascended out of sight.

He took advantage of the brief moment of respite, refusing to let himself drift this time, “Phasma, status report?”

“Only pockets of resistance, General. Most support crew are offering no trouble. We found the mess hall on Deck 7 full of engineers and technicians who wished to surrender.”

Like the small team they'd interrupted earlier, then—most crew lived to live, and served to live. There was satisfaction in knowing they were part of the larger First Order, not something so small and petty as a single commander's faction. Hux ignored the twist in his own chest. His crew would do the same when the time came. They would serve as ordered, with or without him at the helm, for the good of the First Order.

“Any casualties?”

“Only minor injuries, sir, when two squads of enemy combatants attempted to retake the foothold. No enemy survivors.”

Hux raised an eyebrow, “That was gutsy of them to approach you, outgunned and outmanned.”

He could hear the smirk in Phasma's voice as she agreed, “More guts than brains. I might keep the halberd, General, it's very . . . effective.”

Hux hid his amusement, noting the light blinking indicating the return of the lift to them. “I know better than to interfere with a soldier's choice of weapon. Proceed at your discretion, Captain.”

Before boarding, Hux queried, “Squad 04, sitrep.”

LC-2133's breezy voice responded, “Minor resistance, sir, nothing we couldn't handle. Coast is clear.”

“Very good, Second Lieutenant. We'll be with you shortly.” Hux suited action to word, striding in to the lift and finding himself surrounded by a sea of white armor, with the borrowed black flight jacket of the lieutenant next to him. The other man just grimly leveled his rifle at the door and waited.

What the doors opened on was a bit . . . unexpected. Hux found himself stepping over charred stormtrooper armor, the shrapnel from a make-shift barricade of riot shields still smoldering. Squad 04 had split to hold the corridor in each direction, pairs of scouts stationed at the nearest corners. One fired as he watched, two blasts in a row with almost lazy precision.

RD-8045 swept his hand forward, a series of hand-gestures splitting off four troopers to sprint forward in support while the rest advanced slowly behind. Hux gave him a particularly pointed look as he paused beside rather sizable scorch marks. “ _Minor_ resistance.”

“LC-2133's squad has explosives experts, sir.” RD-8045's face had that particularly blank not-quite-pained expression that Hux imagined he knew from the inside out every time he dealt with a certain black-clad menace on the battlefield.

“Ahh.” Hux let the point drop in favor of falling in as RD-8045 coordinated the troops, bringing 04 back to fold in behind Hux as rearguard while six troopers from 01 shot forward in three pairs to scout before them. The lieutenant himself stayed glued to Hux's side, looking far more alert than Hux could manage at this point.

The current operation's squad 01 was comprised of specialist forces pulled from the best scout trooper lances, he recalled. No wonder they had a sniper for a CO. Squad 04, with demolitions and explosives experts, would be a troubleshooting squad, best deployed against resisting installations and Resistance forces alike. He could have chosen worse for this endeavor.

Hux saw no reason to doubt their qualifications, and no reason to bring his own blaster to bear as they took fire as they passed through an intersection. His escort immediately broke in two, splitting one third fore and two thirds aft to take cover against the walls. They swiveled as a unit to return fire at an enemy squad arrayed across the right perpendicular junction. RD-8045 held Hux back, waiting until the firing died down before giving the nod to advance.

Even with the tension of expectation thick in the air, Hux nearly jumped when he was shouldered aside and a blaster bolt whined across the corridor from the _left_ just before him. RD-8045 returned fire with his long rifle, the blast an audibly deeper thrum than the blaster side-arm it was countering. Two shots, then it went silent again, and Hux found himself frowning at the singed edges on the arm of the pilot's flight suit jacket. “Lieutenant. . .”

“Doing my job, sir.” The lieutenant checked his rifle ammunition, nodded once, and flagged the squads forward. Hux saw no hitch in the soldier's movements and deemed it not worth pursuing. The longer they took now, the more they allowed themselves to be slowed, the more resistance they would face, and the happier whomever commanded the ship would be.

Someone had plans, and he intended to ruin them.

Hux waited until the squads reformed, then projected his voice once, “Double time, and silent movement. If there is resistance, return fire, but do not stop to engage. I want as little attention and as little delay as possible.”

The troopers nodded, then took off at a pace Hux found himself hard-pressed to maintain. This time, he bore the weight of roughly one third of the trooper's armor, the breastplate pressing down on the expansion of his lungs, and the almost ever-present knot of tension beneath his sternum ached in sympathy. He was in no shape for this, neither condition nor rest, and he had only himself to blame for failing to maintain readiness.

If only Ren hadn't been injured at Starkiller. This whole mess would have been avoided.

Hux huffed at himself, trying to slow and quiet the desperate rasp of his breathing in comparison to the measured, near-silence of the troopers around him. Since when had he relied upon Kylo Ren? Since when had the vronskr been eating from his hand? Never, that was when, and he had no business cursing the man lying too still and too pale in the _Finalizer_ 's medbay. Curse himself, and take the responsibility that was his to bear. That was why he was _here_.

Someone took potshots at the rear, but the squadrons did not slow; Hux did not look back to see how the rearmost troopers returned fire. A flurry of hand-signals passed down the line and at an intersection, the formation flowed left. Out of the corner of his eye, Hux caught two members of squad 04 lobbing grenades down the corridor they didn't take. Explosions bloomed behind them, more than the grenades could have accounted for.

Booby traps.

Whomever this commander was, they were both brighter and more battle-hardened than Geraent. They had actually taken steps to repel boarders, and anticipated making the approach to the bridge a gauntlet.

Heavier fire— no hand-held blaster pistol this time, but some artillery. A trooper fell to his left, with a surprisingly heavy thud to the deck and a choked off cry. Another took a hit, stumbled mid-stride, then pushed forward with one hand clutching their shoulder, white gauntlet armor slowly tinging red. RD-8045 grimly signaled for the squad to close ranks, pulling the wounded trooper into the center behind Hux.

They did not pause.

They changed direction at the next intersection, this time verging right, pulling away from the artillery fire chasing their flank and correcting towards the center corridor that would bring them to the bridge.

At the last, Hux was unsurprised to hear blaster fire ahead, even RD-8045 raising his rifle to take shots past the heads of his subordinates. They slowed to a trot, then came to what Hux felt an ungainly stop. Hux did not disgrace himself by attempting to raise his own sidearm, instead catching his breath as the two squads eliminated the opposition before them. Two squads, stationed back to back as a wedge before the closed blast shield of the bridge.

No cover, nowhere to retreat.

At the end, a half-dozen troopers hesitated and lowered their blasters, overwhelmed in the face of more, better trained enemies than they could have anticipated. In between rounds, Hux snapped his hand out in judgment. “Hold fire.”

He stepped up beside RD-8045, scrutinizing the men before him. Without a word, six blasters slowly hit the deck, one after another. Hux flicked his hand at one at random. “You. Who is the commander of this ship?”

On herd instinct, or out of some misplaced sense of unity, the remaining six troopers fell into a line together, leaving their weapons behind them on the deck. The unlucky chosen trooper spoke hesitantly, deep voice shaking, “Captain Whitby commands the _Relentless_ , sir.”

Whitby. Hux couldn't place the name, at first; he'd never seen the Captain accompany Geraent to any command meetings. Hux spoke slowly, words sliding out one after another as suspicions crystallized, “Tell me, what role did Captain Whitby play in relation to Tamat Ren?”

The trooper glanced down the line at his fellows, blank incomprehension clear in his voice, “To Lady Ren, sir?”

The second from the left took pity on him, or perhaps acted to save their skins, “Lady Ren only used the _Relentless_ as a base for her shuttle, sir. Captain Whitby leads the patrol fleet.”

There. That was it, the difference obvious in retrospect. Tamat Ren was an obstacle, not the head of this snake. Captain Whitby was a fighting officer, used to opposition of all kinds, not a garrison commander to hold a blockade.

Whoever was on the other side of the blast shields was what Hux needed to eliminate. Speaking of, Hux idly considered the troopers, “Can any of you disable the blast shield doors?”

Dead silence, not a little shaking. Hux sighed, “Useless, but expected.” He turned to his troopers, “Stun them. We'll decide what to do with them later. Squad 04, get us in.”

“Yes, sir.” The six unfortunate troopers went down in a coordinated wave. Without having to be told, squad 01 came forward to drag the unconscious forms away from blast doors, depositing the troopers in a row down one of the corridors as an unconventional but functional blockade. Squad 04 fell into what was clearly a familiar routine for them, four experts converging on the problem while the six remaining squad members cleared the area and held guard.

Hux waited with the lieutenant at what was indicated to be a safe range, taking a moment to check in. “Phasma, status?”

Phasma sounded disgruntled, “Engineering surrounded, sir. The heaviest resistance retreated there and locked down tight. It'll take a siege to move them.”

“We're about to open the bridge. Send what you can spare for support; we may need it. Tell them to expect opposition.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hux barely had a chance to change channels before he was interrupted by an incoming com call. “General Hux, sir?”

He recognized the voice of Commander Holt, in whose good hands he had left the _Finalizer_. “Commander Holt, I'm listening.”

Holt, ever practical, got straight to the point, “General, the _Penalizer_ is reporting heavy engine damage and compromised hull integrity. They are requesting terms for surrender.”

“Excellent work, Commander. Unconditional surrender—we hold the field.” Hux paused, glancing back at the stunned bodies of the troopers down the corridor. “We will be reasonable. There is no sense in weakening the First Order further.”

“Understood, sir.” Holt, stolid and dependable, signed off at once at the same time as LC-2133 congregated her troopers.

“Charges set on your command, sir.” LC-2133 had lost some of her easy manner along with her fallen troopers; she was only matter of fact as she explained, “Shield doors like this, it's easier to blow the controls and override than go through the plating. You need more time or firepower than we have left.”

Or plasma blades, but Hux dealt in realities, not ideals. Hux nodded, considering, “Do you have any projectiles? Grenades?”

LC-2133 didn't even have to look at her troopers to nod, having tracked their use of ordnance with the second nature of command. “Some grenades, sir.”

Hux addressed both squads directly, “There will be a delay between detonation and the doors opening. We have to expect heavy opposition. As soon as there is an opening, I want grenades through. Prepare to return fire and advance on my mark.” He glanced specifically at their sniper, “RD-8045, if you have a clear shot, take it, on any officer except the Captain. Any kill shot on a ranking officer is mine, understood?”

“Yes, sir!” the squads chorused. The lieutenant spoke along with the rest, but Hux felt the trooper's eyes heavily on him, considering. If anyone on the _Relentless_ understood his actions besides Phasma, Hux suspected it would be the other sniper. Hux refused to acknowledge the gaze and instead released and raised his own sidearm, checking the ammunition and charge. Set to kill, as it should be.

Hux waited a breath until the squads were ready, arrayed outside the fringe of the blast zone. “Go.”

They went.

Time seemed to pass in fits and starts; a small eternity before the small explosion, one of squad 04's experts diving in to the smoke with reckless abandon afterward to manipulate the machinery that would goad the doors into opening. The aching, slow tick of seconds as the gears began to move at last. The sliver of an opening. Unerring aim from the four troopers waiting to throw their ammunition, the first wave of grenades straight down the center, a pause for a wider field, then the second angled to fall away down the sides.

The explosions crashed away on the other side of the blast door with such rapidity that they were nearly one sound.

And then everything went from achingly slow, taking cosmic ages, to violently quick without warning; the same way a star abruptly went supernova.

Hux was nearly flattened to the wall by a shoulder as return fire lanced out through the opening iris, searing paths of light through the smoke. Beside him, RD-8045 raised his rifle to his shoulder to fire back, an uneven pattern taken only as he had clear shots.

Hux waited for the doors to hit two-thirds extension, where they wouldn't be easily shot squeezing through a small threshold, then flagged his off hand forward. “Advance!”

They poured through the left side only, sticking close to the wall and firing down into the bridge. Hux had a moment to make out terrified bridge crew members taking cover under their control stations, one officer's face absolutely white with horror, and there, shooting out from one of the bridge wells, the Captain.

Captain Whitby seemed to be an athletic man despite the possibly premature greying at his temples; the sort of officer who kept fighting trim and prepared to work his way to the top. He didn't lack for guts, if he'd had what seemed to be two full squad of troopers and at least an equal array of officers, all armed and at the ready.

Hux found himself automatically trading fire with Captain and remaining troopers while his mind ran, calculations churning quickly.

They hadn't expected the grenades, that much was certain; unarmored, the ranks of officers who had been waiting for them had taken the worst of the damage. One grenade in particular had fallen into the right bridge well and decimated a line of control panels; coms and atmospheric controls, if Hux recalled correctly.

That was going to be a headache later.

Hux's force had little cover, but the advantage of high ground, shooting across and down into the parallel rows of command consoles inset into the bridge.  The _Relentless_ forces who didn't seek cover in the wells were quick to regret it, fallen stormtroopers and officers alike lay thick upon the deck.  The holdouts' lower position had the unfortunate affect of making most of their return fire headshots; Hux saw three troopers fall hard.  With shots whining past him, Hux sought shelter, crouching behind the central pillar of a holoprojector.  Not a moment later, RD-8045 shored up next to him, likewise taking cover as he paused to reload. Hux called out into the chaos, “Captain Whitby. You have one chance remaining to you. Surrender now and your crew will live.”

A pause, and the rate of fire slowed as both sides waited to see what the response would be. From the well, what had to be the Captain's voice answered, “There are three kinds of people that don't last in the First Order.”

Hux exchanged a look with the Lieutenant, finding him ready, then both slid to the edges ready to stand. Hux didn't even need to prompt Captain Whitby to continue, as the man rattled on, “Fools, cowards, and traitors. I'm not one!”

Hux moved as one with the lieutenant, the sniper firing into the control panel the Captain took cover behind. The powerful bolt of the rifle shattered the monitor, sparks flying, and drove the Captain out into the open before it.  Whitby found himself staring up directly at Hux's blaster.

“No, Whitby. You're all three.” Hux saw it in the captain's eyes, the moment he knew he'd erred, and saw too how the man was about to break, about to plead.

Hux fired.

Fools, cowards, and traitors never lasted long in the First Order, that much was true.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I forgot to say it last time: Hux Shot First.  
> (Twice, even! :D I dearly want that on a graphic because my sense of humor is terrible.) Also I realize the blatant innuendo may have been not nearly blatant enough so I may need to fix that later. Woops.
> 
> Thank you guys for the commentary! :D World-building is my jam, and it seems strange to me that the First Order wouldn't have its own culture and worlds and politics going on, so of course there's more to the FO than just Starkiller Base. This is me playing with the end results, because I can't imagine things would go smoothly. I love turning over things and figuring out how to make them work, and work realistically, so tactics and logistics and plot = yeeeeeeees. (And oh my god slow burn. The slowest of burns. You'll see more evidence of hearth fires before the end!)
> 
> Please feel free to come yell at me on [Tumblr](http://windlion.tumblr.com)! (I feel weird replying to comments on AO3 and inflating the comment count, but that is not an issue over there!)

**Author's Note:**

> This originated as a response to a prompt on the SW:TFA kink meme that was really straightforward:  
> Kylux, No one has ever loved Hux  
> That's the whole prompt, do what you will.  
> https://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/2821.html?thread=4736261#cmt4736261
> 
> Title is from a Union of Knives song, which is pretty appropriate to the prompt! Aaand from there it sort of went places. I'm not really sure I kept the theme, but it was what got the ball rolling, so for that, many thanks to the OP!
> 
> This is unbetaed, so there may be changes and tweaks in the future.


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